


Lockdown

by Kuronrko98



Series: Maladaptive Daydreaming Work: The Cube and Related Universes [6]
Category: Escape from Furnace - Alexander Gordon Smith
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enabling Behavior, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It's all a dream but everyone knows that already, Nazi imagery, None of it is real, Self-Insert, and one (1) vampire diaries character, but it's important context for the rest of the cube stuff, but they really arent relevant, do not copy to another site, everyones underage after the first chapter, everything about this is just Bad, i didnt think i was gonna write/post this when i was daydreaming it, look im not about changing the things that happened in these daydreams just bc its embarrassing, maladaptive daydreaming, so i wasnt going for consumability at the time, so there are characters that dont actually matter floating around here, there is one (1) homestuck character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-23 21:18:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 46,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17691242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuronrko98/pseuds/Kuronrko98
Summary: A daydreamer has been stomping around in different iterations of this universe for years. They decide to play one more time, their eighth pass through the world, but their dark outlook on the world may have doomed the universe before the ball ever started rolling. Between the monsters below, the fear above, and a mysterious figure in the In-Between, where can Sawyer find themself when all they've ever done is run?The page for this and the rest of the Breaking Furnace series can be found here: https://panticwritten.tumblr.com/breaking-furnace





	1. Before the Fall

**Author's Note:**

> The first installment in The Cube Collection, following Sawyer in the worlds they walk in their daydreams. Breaking Furnace borrows the universe and characters from Alexander Gordon Smith's Escape From Furnace series and several other existing works are featured through mentions or characters.
> 
> I'm moving all this shit here because I don't think Tumblr's gonna last much longer. Especially with the rumored hundred paragraph limit on text posts... I think the rest of my writing updates are gonna be happening on AO3 from now on.

Sometimes, I think I should start a support group. I can almost hear the meetings playing out:

_“Hello, my name is Jesse Perry and I might actually be losing my mind.”_

_“Hi, Jesse.”_

Of course, I’m almost hearing a lot of things lately. For example, my best friend. I can almost hear him talking, I can almost see him, feel him next to me. I glance over, sure that if I’m fast enough I’ll see him for even a moment, but no luck. I suppress a sigh, unable to think of anything to say.

“If I’m making you uncomfortable, I can go.” As usual, the words don’t make a single sound, but they’re as clear to me as if they had. I shake my head, finally peering at the space where Connor Sawyer should be.

Where he would be if he were real.

I should be used to this by now, of course, having been around him and the others floating around in my gray matter. At least Connor seems to care about what I actually need, rather than what I want.

I’m so busy trying to struggle with these same old emotions that it takes me a minute to realize that he’s waiting for me to answer. I jerk up straight and shake my head again. Barely moving my lips, I silently speak to him.

“No. I just got you back. I don’t want to drive you away just because I’m nervous. Besides, I’m going to need you here to get through the night.”

“You could have stayed home. There are already enough people signed up for this.” He laughs, and my heart aches. I shake my head _again_.

“It’s good to get out of the house. I’m supposed to be working on myself, right?” I let my eyes drift back to the window, watching the countryside pass by. The sun will set soon, and the cool shadows blend with sunlight. A small smile plays around my lips. “Besides, I know Ray wouldn’t want to deal with the others’ drama. I’m the only sane one on the Prom Committee, I swear.”

He has the decency to laugh, though I can feel a lecture coming on. He’s been gone for more than two years. In the week he’s been back, I’ve caught a lot of unspoken words in his eyes. I wish he would just say it.

“I meant to come back sooner.” My eyes widen. I wasn’t expecting this so soon. The arguments always came first, then the apologies later. I keep my eyes focused on a glare of light on the window as he continues. “I’m sorry for that. I didn’t think it would take you so long to find yourself.” He sighs, resting a hand on my thigh. I suppress a flinch, not willing to not feel his touch. “I should have been here for you. I should have been here when—”

“Stop.” I finally look at him, and he falls silent. When I speak again, the tone in my mind is cold. “Don’t talk to me about my overdose. You were gone. We both know that you could have come back, and we both know it was your choice not to. That’s fine, but you need to come to terms with it on your own.”

He doesn’t talk again for the rest of the bus ride.

~-S-~

“I know what to do to welcome you back now,” I announce.

We’re waiting outside of the school for my mom to come pick us up. The basketball game was boring, as usual, but Prom Committee earned almost $90. The sun is long gone now, leaving the school and sidewalk beyond cast in dark shadows. Connor hasn’t talked much aside from gentle encouragement whenever I started panicking. He still doesn’t respond, so I turn to him.

“We could go back into Furnace. I mean,” I stumble over my words a little, at the surprise he directs my way. I can almost see his face when I concentrate, and I have to struggle not to back down. “It would be good, I think. I could use some closure, you know”

“Have you been in contact with your brother since your last run?” he asks, not quite looking at me. He pretends to keep an eye out for my mother, which is useless. If I don’t see her, neither of us will even notice her.

“Yeah.” I shrug. “He’s just as bad as he’s always been. He’s not my brother, though. That’s not me, that’s—well, not me.” I scratch my arm, following his line of sight to see an empty street.

We’ve been waiting for twenty minutes.

The silence settles. When my mom finally shows up, Connor breaks it again.

“You act like another version of you isn’t ‘you.’ You’re the one that’s going to be running around in there. Even if it’s them that Furnace took into his family, you can’t accept some of us as a part of you and not others.”

I lose my chance to answer, climbing into the car and greeting my mom. We chat animatedly, and I don’t let myself react when Connor speaks again.

“I’ll think about it. You should think about whether this is what you want, too.”

~-S-~

“Okay.”

“What?” I jump, an ugly line scratching out on my journal. Damn it. “Thanks,” I mutter, flipping my pencil around to erase the mark.

“Sorry.”

He doesn’t sound sorry at all. He also doesn’t explain anything, so I look up. If anyone notices me staring into space, they don’t say anything as I find where Connor should be. His response is prompt, though unexpected.

“I’ll go into Furnace with you. Only if you promise that you aren’t doing this to distract yourself or—”

“Connor. It’s been two weeks. If I wanted to distract myself from something, it would be over by now.” He eyes me skeptically, but nods before long. I lower my gaze back to the journal, taking some notes. Connor settles himself in the seat in front of me, sitting backwards in the desk to watch me.

“And you have to keep everything in that world stuck in there.” I look up again, almost messing up my notes—again. He plows on before I can object. “The last thing you need is the shit that world breeds breaking into the Lounge.”

“But—”

“Either you lock the door from the outside or I’m not going in.” He points at a verb conjugation on my page. “There’s supposed to be an accent there, by the way.”

“Oh, damn, thanks,” I mutter, adding the accent. “You'll be stuck there. I can't do that.”

He shrugs.

He just came back. The Cube is _still_ recovering from the shock of his return four months after the fact. He’ll have the mirror of myself I send into the new universe, but me?

He’ll be gone. Again..

“We’ll survive. Besides, a locked door still has cracks we can talk through.” He gives me a grin, but I keep my eyes on my Spanish teacher. There are so many ways this could go wrong either way, but…

“Okay.”

“Well, alright then. There are a few things I need to set up before we start, so wait a few days.” He stands to go, but pauses when I murmur his name.

My physical hands are still on the desk, still facing forward with my glazed eyes on the teacher. My mind, however, clutches Connor’s jacket sleeve, a searching gaze fixed on him.

I open my mouth to speak, but end up closing it. I let go, turning to pay attention to our notes again. Connor stays for a moment; I can feel him watching me.

He turns away and disappears.

~-S-~

“Leave me alone, Damon.” I shake my hands out, pacing and trying my best to clear my head. I need to build a whole world, which isn’t easy with a vampire badgering me all the time. “I know what I’m doing, and you can’t change my mind.”

I manage to tune him out, my eyes softening when they land on Dipper, my cat. My baby. His deep breaths sync with the pulse and sway of the growth of a new universe. I almost have it when Damon breaks the silence again.

“Just because I can’t doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”  He watches me from the couch, lounging like he owns the damn place. “I’ve learned that much, at least.”

I stop, looking at him. Is it worth it to tell him off? He knows I don’t like talking about my overdose, but he keeps bringing it up. Even more so now that Connor is back. He wants to blame Connor so he doesn’t have to blame himself.

“I wish you wouldn’t use that as a weapon.” The words come out sharper than I intended. “You couldn’t help me either. Stop blaming him.”

I get a sick sense of satisfaction when he winces. I expect a rush of guilt, but it never comes. Instead, I return to pacing the living room. It’ll just take a little bit longer. Then, I can get the closure I need. I’ll prove that I’m not like Cross.

I’ll find whatever is broken inside of me and put it back together.

“So that’s why you’re doing this.”

I jump, looking up.

Connor stands in the kitchen entryway, leaning against the wall. Once again, the guilt I expect stays away. His eyes drift away from me and land on Damon. The vampire glares at Connor, and I sigh. These two have never gotten along.

“Eavesdropping is a bad habit.” I turn away from both of them, reaching up to fiddle with the key hung around my neck. “I have unfinished business and—”

“If you want to fix yourself, you don't have to force yourself back there. Don’t pretend you’re not scared of the place.” He drifts closer and ghosts a hand over my back. “You really think we don’t see it?”

I don’t say anything. There isn’t anything to say. I shake my head, sit on the ground and close my eyes. I don’t know how people can handle only living in one mind space.

I flick my eyes open to reveal a cool corridor lined with doors. I stand, though I can still feel the carpet where I still sit at home. I glance back to see that both Connor and Damon followed me. I don’t face them, walking along the hall instead.

Each door is sleek and new, dark wood complementing the stormy walls they interrupt. Overhead, screens flash the doors’ status, all red and reading **VACANT** for now. I check each of the doors, allowing my feet to wander on their own. This area of the Cube is far from the Lounge; it isn’t safe here. These halls move often, and it’s difficult to find your way out if you aren’t careful.

My footsteps echo, as do the two sets behind me. I don’t stop until I see a dead end up ahead. I’m too far away to see what the door at the end of the hall says, but I can tell that it is green rather than red.

Connor and Damon stop behind me. Connor’s close enough to brush his hand against my arm, but I don’t look back.

“You can still change your mind. When you open the door, no one will be able to get out until you finish it.”

“I know,” I say, my eyes fixed on the green sign, on the door. “You talked to everyone, right? They’re all coming?”

With his hand still touching mine, I can feel his affirmation. I pull away from them both, ignoring Damon calling out to me.

“You’re better than this, better than that place.”

He’s wrong. I don’t turn back, my eyes locked onto the door ahead. This should be it.

“Please don’t do this.”

**CONTAINS: FURNACE V.8**

Finally, I stop in front of the door, my fingertips resting on the cold, dark wood. The door seems to vibrate, though I can’t be sure if that’s real. Connor stays at my side and his hand nudges mine. I don’t take it, worried that I’ll change my mind.

I should _not_ be doing this.

Before Connor can comment, if he even heard me, I pull my necklace over my head and fit the key into the lock. The dull iron of the key clashes with the shine of the door itself..

Before I can think about what I’m doing, it’s open. Darkness churns beyond the doorway, and I can’t help but stare into the abyss. I would say that the abyss stares back, but I’m not quite edgy enough to talk about the In-Between like that..

“It’s okay.”

I look at Connor, and he offers me his hand. I look back, expecting to find Damon with another argument, but the vampire’s nowhere to be seen. I let my eyes meet Connor’s before I facing the doorway head-on and finally take his hand.

Together, we walk through the door. It closes behind us, and we don’t look back.


	2. Highway to Hell

It’s still dark.

I’m not sure how long we’ve been walking in silence, our hands swinging between us. Our deadened footsteps make it seem as though the ground is carpeted. It doesn’t take very long for me to get curious and check. On my knees, my hands grope much farther down than should be possible.

There is no floor.

So, we’ve been walking for awhile. Every once in awhile, I stop and turn in a different direction on a whim. Connor doesn’t ask questions or argue, staying right at my side. We might be getting close, but nothing is certain here.

I don’t even know if we’re going in the right direction.

“This should be fast,” I say. “Maybe a year.”

“If I know you, I doubt it.” He cracks a grin, and we both laugh. He squeezes my hand.

I open my mouth to reassure him, but catch a glimpse of a pinprick of light out of the corner of my eye. I stop and jerk my head to look so fast that Connor’s hand pulls out of my grip. Even in such darkness, the light is so faint I almost have to squint to see it.

“That’s it.” I don’t look at Connor when he speaks, nodding instead. He moves to my side and offers his hand once again. I take it and we walk toward that distant light.

It doesn’t take us very long to reach it.

The light pours from the cracks around yet another door. This one is metal, rusted. A grimy window lets even more light out. Finally, I look at Connor to find him smiling at me. He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

I look at him, and I decide to tell him a secret, a present before we begin.

“I’m going to change my name to Sawyer.”

I reach out, before he can respond, and push the door open. Our hands pull apart as the portal sucks us into a new world.

~-S-~

I land with a stagger in a disgustingly clean office. Two of the walls are windows overlooking a city, the other two are shining metal holding a sleek wooden door each. I glance around, checking for nearby witnesses.

No one.

I search frantically for clues, immediately locking onto an ornate desk and trying to figure it out. The desk is familiar, the one that I had in my first run through Furnace. Sifting through neatly stacked papers, I find my dead-name (my surname is Furnace here?) on envelopes and stationery, which also identify me as Chief Financial Officer in Furnace’s company.

_God, no one can accuse me of being humble anymore._

The idea of being so high up unnerves me. I haven’t had that much influence in a _legal_ way in my daydreams in a long time. Does that make me older? That would be impossible, I won’t be allowed inside the prison if I’m an adult.

I take stock of my body, patting the expensive dress suit I find myself in. My hair is in a tight bun and I find my fingernails longer than I can usually stand. All it tells me is that I have to be close to my real age.

Shit.

I’m about to panic when I catch sight of a card propped open on the desk. My desk. Opening the card, I see congratulations from HR made out to me. I scrabble for the card and stare at it in disbelief.

I’m fifteen?

I’ve been knocked back two years and I’m more successful than I’ll ever be in real life. Of course, this world is very biased in my favor and normal rules don’t exactly apply. In the real world, I wouldn’t be able to be the CFO of a major prison. In the real world, there’s no way I would be sent to an underground prison full of angry teenage boys, so there’s the reality of the situation.

The phone rings, and I jump so violently that the desk chair behind me rolls away. I take a moment to collect myself, then click the phone onto speaker.

“Yes?”

“Miss Furnace? I wasn’t expecting to reach you directly. Anyway...”

I frown.

 _Miss Furnace._ I must have been a much different person here to earn such casual tone from Cross. I was obviously fine with the honorific _miss_ —I doubt this version of me, in her ivory tower, would deem it acceptable if not.

It’s unnerving to hear him talk to me like an equal. Like he trusts me, like I’m on his side. Ignoring the knot in my chest, I listen hard to pick up on what’s going on.

“These preliminary designs for the German prison are fine, but Furnace is still waiting for those numbers. We aren’t certain that the costs will be explained as easily as they were out here. Maybe a strategic—”

“Why not have our own workers deal with the underground portion?” I pitch, retrieving my chair and sliding right into the role I’ve found myself in. “The suits will do it for free, that way we won’t have any nasty fees to hide. We’ll only have to shuffle some materials around.”

“Yes, we’ve talked about that,” he says with a touch of impatience. “It all depends on how many of them we can spare. We need a fall back. You told us you would have a decent cover before—” He breaks off, and the line is silent long enough for me to look up to make sure the call didn’t drop. Before I can ask, he speaks again, his distaste evident. “Perry. You’re here.”

I direct a cold smile at the phone. “Yes, I’m here. I trust we’ll be able to play nice for the time being?”

There’s a pause.

“Of course, dear sister.” His voice comes in a dangerous purr. Still, I release a tense breath. It’s been so long since we’ve clashed, and it’s a relief that he’ll leave all of that for within the prison.

“Perfect. I’m sure I’ll be able to find the cover on this desk soon enough. Can you send me the design? I’m sure you’ve made changes.”

“Consider it done.” I don’t miss the mocking tilt to his voice, but choose not to comment on it.

The line is quiet again, and I squint at a newspaper clipping. It looks relatively new and covers a rumor that I may be a murderer.

“How long have you been here?” I ask, lifting a folder labelled ‘Financing plan.’ This seems like a plausible source of a cover story.

“Three weeks.”

“Oh? Well, these doors tend to have a sense of humor.” I flip the folder open and smile, spinning in my chair. “I found the cover story. I’ll send it to you when I add my own tweaks to this blueprint. Is this official or the one we’ll actually be building with?”

~-S-~

I’ve been so caught up in putting together the plans for this new prison and preparing for the day I’ll be questioned for those murders that I haven’t given much thought to my own plans for Furnace and Cross. I’ve had two conference calls with the CEO, some douche by the name of Tyler Jackson, about the particulars.

I’m actually having a good time. It makes me feel sick, though, in the moments I remember what’s happening underground. How long has Connor been in the prison from his perspective? I’m having a hard time getting sleep, worrying about him. I resist poking my head in the prison, though, knowing that it won’t help anyone.

Three days in, my secretary calls my office phone.

“It’s the police, ma’am,” she tells me. I smile, pleased. Finally.

“Do they have a warrant?” I continue typing up my plans for the German prison. Even if I won’t see it, I might as well finish what I need to.

“Yes.”

I nod and end the call. I email what I have to Cross. I’m hoping he’ll know where I want to go with it. If not, he can complain about it later. The officers walk in as I’m closing my laptop.

I pause the world for a moment to consider how to deal with this. I don’t think it matters what I say, really—these people have a limited span of thought. NPCs that just do what they’re programmed to.

I might as well play along, I suppose.

I smile briefly in greeting before standing. A familiar face follows them in, but I ignore him. I wouldn’t put it past Damon to do something stupid, but I’ll leave him alone for now.

“Do you know why we’re here, Miss Furnace?” the first officer asks, handing me her warrant.

_Because I killed the family of a kid we framed for murder after they killed him._

“I assume it has to do with a nasty rumor.” I barely glance at the paper, then drop it on my desk with a shrug. “I’ve been expecting you. Sarah, my assistant, will be at your disposal if necessary.”

They shift uncomfortably.

“Actually, we’re here to bring you in for questioning,” the younger man says. I suppress a sigh.

_Just throw me in the prison already, the back and forth will be hell for all of us._

“Of course.” I stand and push their warrant back at them. “If you’d like, you can ask Sarah to box our file backups and send them to the station for processing.”

I shift my gaze to Damon in the background.

“And you, what are you doing here?” He quirks his eyebrows.

“I’m here to act as your lawyer. Make sure they don’t twist your words around.”

 _We’ll talk later,_ I think, my frown deepening.

“Thanks,” I say dryly. That isn’t really what I meant.

“ _Promise?_ ”

“Just doing my job.”

I narrow my eyes, and he shrugs. Wonderful.

The older officer coughs, and I turn to her. “We should be on our way.”

I gather my file and my bag, then stand. I push past them into the corridor beyond.

~-S-~

“What are you doing here?” I scold when we pull onto the street.

“What do you mean?” he laughs. My scowl deepens. Great.

“You should have stayed home.”

He doesn’t defend himself, changing tact instead. “What, exactly, are the charges?”

I groan, turning to look out the window. If he couldn’t take the time to look into it before blundering in, I might as well start at the beginning.

“From what I gather, a family went for a trip and didn’t come back when they were supposed to. I was in the same area. The family’s bodies were found in a river last month. Evidence came to light connecting me to it—and three similar killings.”

“Sounds like overkill to me.”

“I need to be sure I’ll end up in Furnace.” I catch my fingers digging into the skin of my inner arm and force my hands into my lap. This is not the time.

It reminds me, though, about the key around my neck. I pull it off, struggling with the knot of the string to avoid looking at Damon.

“If you want a conviction, this world won’t deny you,” he says, shrugging.

“I’m really good at making things go wrong.” The knot gives, and I abandon the rest of the necklace on the floor of the car. I roll up my sleeve and press the key against the skin just above my elbow in my inner arm.

“You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

I look up at Damon, who’s watching me from the corner of his eye. I shrug and roll my sleeve back down, the key safely under my skin. If I’m right, it’ll show up on an x-ray as a plate in my shoulder.

“I’m doing what I have to do.” I mutter. “I need to go help Connor. He’s stuck down there right now.”

“Only because you put him there,” he murmurs.

I ignore that.

“You get to stay out here, and hopefully either—” I stop and frown, shaping the words in my mind before saying them and turning my eyes back to him. “Either kill yourself or get out of the city. You shouldn’t be here when I get out.”

He grips the steering wheel.

“I want to help.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, staring out the window.

“I _don’t_ want you to be here when I break the prison open. You won’t like what you see. Please, go back to the Lounge, where it’s safe.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but is cut short when one of the officers taps on the window. We’re sitting in the station parking lot, the engine still idling. We both exit the vehicle and follow them inside.

~-S-~

“It stands to reason that Furnace might not be so trustworthy if you aren’t.”

I frown at the accusation. I’m the good guy here, god damn it. With little hesitation, I swallow the thought.

“I’m at the head of prisoner rights and keeping the kids who don’t deserve life sentences out of there.” I stop a beat. It might be overkill, Damon might be right, but I need to be _sure._ “Just because a plumber commits insurance fraud doesn’t mean he’s bad at clearing pipes.”

Damon clears his throat. I throw him a dirty look, and the officer raises an eyebrow. I shrug, my eyes wandering to fix on the wall. I’m so tired.

“Are you saying you’re guilty?”

“Maybe I am,” I say, my words barbed. She leans forward, surprised. “But those kids would be starving or dead down there if it were up to Cross”

“‘Those kids’ are guilty, Miss Furnace.”

I now care 90% less than before.

“Jurors should be screened better.”

We go back and forth like this for several minutes.

“Your lawyer doesn’t seem too interested in what you’re saying.”

I shrug again.

“Think what you want. Can I go?”

I get news that, obviously, I can’t go back home. I spend a week of more interrogations and staring at the ceiling of a cell. Damon comes back once more, telling me about two cases that come to trial on the same day as mine, then I don’t see him again.

~-S-~

I am the very definition of compliant the morning of my trial. Too many of the people we pass know me. Police officers, administrators, many of their eyes aren’t unkind when they nod to me, but I don’t have the memories attaching me to them.

I hope that my popularity doesn’t keep me above ground. Still, there isn’t any reason to put my safety in jeopardy.

We have to stop several times, as the key in my arm sets off each and every metal detector between my cell and the courtroom. It’s less annoying than losing my key would be, at the very least.

Finally, when I settle into my seat it’s behind a set of bars. A metal cage, setting me apart from the rest of the courtroom.

I plead guilty from the beginning, and I don’t bat an eye at the derisive remarks of the prosecution. When it’s my time, I stand. The effect is slightly marred by the metal bars, but it doesn’t matter. None of these people are real, anyway.

“I know you’ve already made up your minds, and I welcome it. The inmates of Furnace will be more reasonable than any jury I could find here.

“Thank you for your time.” I nod at the judge, then take my seat.

I’m convicted and sentenced to life in Furnace Penitentiary later that day.

~-S-~

Passing the commotion outside of Alex and Zee’s courtrooms, I frown. It’s not a coincidence that their trials were today, but I’m almost surprised that the two of them agreed to come back here with me. This has never been a good place for them.

But here they are.

I stride with purpose, unflinching. There’s no point in hysterics; after all, I’m actually guilty. I’m stopped only briefly by a crowd of reporters that my court-appointed escorts push through. Somehow, I still make it to the bus before my friends.

Monty and Jimmy, two other new inmates, already wait there. I give them an easy smile and they exchange a glance.

Of course, they don’t know who I am, though they should recognize me. These two aren't part of the game, so they only know me as a part of the prison’s corporate owner.

Alex reaches the truck first, and Zee isn't far behind. They both stare at me for a second before breaking into matching grins. Their hesitance isn’t easily hidden, though.

“You couldn't have skipped the trials?” Alex laughs nervously.

I shrug, noting Monty and Jimmy watching us like we have two heads.

“Take it up with the door you came through. You ready for this, guys?” I curse the nervous tilt in my voice.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Alex says, and the tense awkwardness begins to fade. The three of us burst into laughter.

“Hey, quiet!” A guard says as he climbs in. “This ain’t a carnival ride.”

As we all settle in, I watch the guards. The two don’t seem concerned with us, merely joking between themselves. I’m certain that if we speak, they’ll shut us up quick, so I keep quiet.

This is going to be a long ride.

~-S-~

When we finally arrive, my eyes rest on the Black Fort. What should be ominous hits me with a sense of nostalgia. It’s good to be back, even as an inmate. The truck stops, and the guards prompt us to exit ahead of them.

I step off the truck to see two blacksuits waiting for us They salute, and I wave it away.

“Sorry, boys, I'm here as a resident this time.”

They both grin and wink before barking at the others to get out of the vehicle.

I pause the world and try to prepare myself for what’s ahead. Zee and Alex stand behind me, ogling the frozen blacksuits.

“Would it be against the rules if I just—” Zee jerks a leg in their direction.

“Don’t be a dick. They should be on our side.” I smile and straighten the hulking mens’ ties. “It’s as much of a game to them as it is to us now.”

“So, if we aren’t here to kick some ass, what are we waiting for?” Zee asks. I look to the sky, at the clouds scudding by in the otherwise still world.

“Since I can choose my last experience on the surface as I am now…” I shrug. “I’m waiting for something.”

“What?” Alex watches me, then turns his eyes skyward as well.

I open my mouth to respond, but a sound from the truck distracts me. I narrow my eyes and flash to the back of the vehicle. Monty and Jimmy whisper behind the doors, but they freeze when my shadow falls on them.

They stare at me.

I stare at them.

We remain like this for at least a minute. The way they watch me, like cornered animals, tells me they’ll get on just fine in Furnace. Instincts.

I can’t help laughing, but that doesn’t seem to help matters.

“Color me surprised, you two are supposed to be frozen!” I beckon them out with a smile and continue. “I guess this means you’re part of the team! That makes, um, two, five…” I pause, counting on my fingers. I grimace. “Eleven. No! If you count Lucy and Sam that’s thirteen!”

My frown deepens. That’s lot of people to coordinate. Not that it _matters_. If they’re letting me jabber like this they might not even be sentient.

They hesitantly follow to join the other grinning boys.

“Right now, we’re playing everything by ear. We can’t make many plans until we get inside. I’ll explain everything on the way down, so all we have to do is pretend that none of this has happened.” A raindrop falls, and I grin. “Remember, keep your mouth shut and we’ll all get out of here. Time to move on!”

I turn to face my children and snap my fingers.

“Alright, maggots, line up,” a suit says, shoving us into a line.

The driver jumps out of the truck with a tablet. “Here’s the papers, just gotta sign ‘em out.”

The suits both scan their thumbs. Pride swells in my chest, unexpected. One of them catches my poorly suppressed smile and his expression softens. My friends give me weird looks, but I ignore them.

When the court guards pack back into the truck, the suits confer with each other. They lead us to the Black Fort in the rain with me at the front of the line.

“I’m proud of you all,” I say in a very quick, quiet tone. “Please tell the others. I don’t say it enough, and—”

“Shut it, Furnace.” The suit in front of me barks, glancing back at me. In that look, though, he hides a wink.

I leave the rain behind with a swell of gratitude.


	3. Down the Rabbit Hole, Alice

The process is a blur. Decontamination, new clothes, and waiting for the elevator. The suits stay in good spirits, though I try to be stern when they talk to me like a friend. I’m here as a prisoner, and they know it.

This isn’t going to help me stay safe in the prison. Already, each time one of the guards addresses me like an equal, Monty fixes me with an openly hostile glare. I doubt he’ll keep quiet about how close I am to the guards once we’re inside.

The awkward, one-sided conversation the blacksuits have been putting me through ceases when the elevator arrives. I rush in and ignore the whirring of the machine gun that comes to life on the roof of the car. The suits bid us—me, specifically—farewell, but I ignore them and glare at the floor.

The suits just laugh and begin to walk away as the doors shudder. The moment they close, I steel myself. We’re going down.

Underground.

I take a deep breath and try to put it from my mind. I’ve been here before, I can handle it now. Setting my shoulders, I wave a hand to freeze the camera pointed at us.

I gaze at the two new boys, polar opposites from each other, and try to figure them out. I don’t know how much sentience they have, or whether they’ll help or hinder the escape. I guess there’s only one way to find out.

“Camera’s off, we have the whole ride to talk.”

Jimmy, the tall, skinny one, immediately starts listing off questions. Some of them are things I want to explain to Alex and Zee, anyway, so it really doesn’t help me assess him. Are these his questions? Or mine?

“What did you mean when you said we’ll all get out of here? Didn’t you work for Furnace? How did you stop the camera? Stop _time_?” I raise a hand to stop him before he wastes the whole ride. I need to _know._

“I meant that I’m blowing the lid off of this place. Again.”

“You’re crazy,” Monty mutters. “No one’s getting out, you’re just a lunatic. Why do you think they sent you _here_ instead of Max? Don’t listen to her, Jimmy.” He turns to Alex and Zee. “You two shouldn’t be buying into this, either.”

I look at him. I’m not sure how much of that was him and how much of it was me, but it hit home. Just a little bit, that hurt.

But that’s nothing new.

“This won’t be the first time I’ve had this place torn apart.” He scoffs, and I narrow my eyes. “We’ve beaten Furnace before. I mean, Zee even assaulted his warden a couple times.”

“Don’t drag me into this, Zee mutters.

“Are you saying you aren’t scared of him?” Monty challenges. I start to laugh, maybe a little nervously. Christ, that’s not what I’m getting at at _all_. “And if you _beat Furnace_ , what’s the prison still doing here?”

“I-”

“But how are you freezing things?” Jimmy asks. I look back at him, surprised. That’s easy, something everyone in the Cube knows by now, so I think he’s mostly cognizant. I should probably be real with him, then.

“None of this is real, kiddo. It’s an elaborate daydream of mine, and you got caught in it.”

“What?”

“It’s a game, Jimmy,” I say with a sigh. “A fabricated world. I made a mistake, as cold as that sounds.” I shrug, itching at the skin on my arm concealing the key. It feels weird. “Anyone who dies wakes up somewhere safe. That includes you now, I think.”

The look on Monty’s face tells me he has something else to say, but the elevator begins to grind to a halt. I still don’t know about Monty, but that’ll have to wait.

“Wait! I have to put the cameras back, we can talk about this later.” I wave the camera back on just as the doors begin to open.

At the front of the crowd in genpop, four familiar faces approach. The rest of the Skulls follow close behind them. I note that Donovan, Dominic, and Connor wear the black Skull bandanas along with the usual crowd. Kevin must have let them join the crew this time. Protection in exchange for another chance at getting out.

The idea of Donovan in the Skulls is so absurd that it takes me a second to remind myself of the eyes on me.

“Look what we have here. What are you in for, girlie?” Kevin croons with a smirk, stopping right at my feet. I respond with what I hope is an easy smile.

“How nosy. Am I supposed to be scared, Chicken Pox?” I breathe. I lean forward and whisper in his ear. “Make it believable.”

I don’t get a chance to pull away before his fist sinks into my gut.

I double over, and he laughs, pushing me back. I sink to fle floor, winded, and glare up at him. I guess I asked for that.

“Yeah, little girl, you should be scared,” he says with a smirk. The siren sounds before he can take it any further. “We’ll talk later.”

He leaves without another word and joins the throng of inmates gathering in a yellow circle painted on the floor of the yard.

Alex and Zee help me up, and I take a moment to catch my breath. Jimmy hangs back, and Monty glances at me.

“You know him?” the short boy asks.

I wave him away, though do I bob my head in a nod. “Kevin. He’s gonna keep us alive ‘til the game really starts.”

The doors at the far side of the yard open with another siren blast. My stomach squirms at the reminder of where we are. I tell the others to stay sharp in a low voice, though Alex and Zee certainly don’t need telling.

Three blacksuits, the guards of Furnace Penitentiary, step out first with shotguns slung over their shoulders. Their grins, half-moons wider than should be possible, almost identify them more than the crisp black suits they wear.

Then come the wheezers. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I clench my fists. Their gas masks hide the truth. Ancient tinkerers working on flesh and bone to create beings that are _more_ than human. The cost, however…

_Catastrophe._

Finally, the real monster emerges. Two of his giant, skinless dogs pant at his heels. His skin looks _off_ , but it’s hard to tell exactly what it is at a glance. Leathery, dry, a mummy disguised as a businessman. The pits of his eyes are nearly impossible to look into.

I see them, though. It takes me a few seconds, but I see the universe in his eyes. I see past his welcoming grin at the villain beneath. It’s nearly too much. I feel the world peel away, my thoughts twisting. All of the nectar in the room, the prison, in _this world_ almost brings me back. It almost turns me right here.

Instead, the prison snaps back into place and I glare defiantly at the warden of Furnace Penitentiary.

My adoptive brother, if I were to listen to Connor.

He begins his obviously rehearsed speech, promising us an easy stay if we follow the rules. I ignore him, having heard this many times before. It doesn’t take long for him to get down to business.

“Jessica Furnace. Prisoner number 201239. Cell A10, ground floor.” I breathe a sigh of relief. At least he gave me my own cell, even one on the ground. I stride into the ring among catcalls and jeers. I ignore them as the others are divvied out.

Alex goes with Donovan, Zee finds a boy named Carlton Jones, Monty grudgingly joins Kevin, who shoves him to the side. Pointedly ignoring Cross’s words, I don’t think to listen for Jimmy’s cellmate’s name, and I don’t recognize the boy he finds in the crowd.

We stand in our little pairs and wait through the rest of Cross’s address. I don’t pay attention, scuffing my toe against the dusty ground. Paper shoes, a must have fashion item in this prison, already make me want to to cut my feet off. A siren sounds, and Cross smiles.

“Beneath Heaven is Hell. Beneath Hell is Furnace. Enjoy your stay.”

He moves to turn away, and I clap to stop time. The clamour of the other inmates freezes. The warden’s dogs stop growling. The man himself is frozen in time. I watch him steadily for any sign that he isn’t affected.

After Monty and Jimmy, I certainly wouldn’t be surprised.

When he doesn’t move, I jog out of the crowd.

“Jess, hey—hey, Jess!” Dominic calls from the circle. I haven’t talked to him in a couple months, and I’m not quite ready to break that streak now. Instead, I survey the blacksuit numbers.

It takes awhile to walk through the prison and check all of the rooms, and in the end I only find fifteen of them. Fifteen guards watching over hundreds of inmates.

This isn’t up to regulation. I mean, I’m happy that they’re dropping shift numbers. I’m _overjoyed_ about it. It just makes me feel like he isn’t taking me seriously.

How rude.

Now, the cameras. I skirt the edges of the yard, work areas, and above to find the small lenses. There are only two new ones. Neither of them close the blind-spots protecting our escape route. He’s still not taking me seriously.

Maybe he agrees that what happens here is secondary to the events after we leave genpop. Maybe he wants the excuse to tear us apart.

Maybe he has plans for us when we reach the underbelly of the prison.

It doesn’t matter. I smile anyway, more to boost my confidence than anything, and stride to Cross himself. The boys’ quiet discussion makes me long to join them. I have one more thing to do, though.

“Hang on. What the hell are you doing?” Donovan shouts from behind me as I search through the warden’s pockets.

I keep my eyes resolutely away from his face, though I know he’s frozen where he stands. While my history with him means I can meet his eyes, I would really rather not.

Eventually, I find what I’m looking for in his jacket’s inside pocket. I also let the key I’ve had hidden up my sleeve fall into my hand. With a click, I convert it into a pen. When I touch it to Cross’s notepad, the words flow smoothly.

 

_Still playing nice? Unexpected, coming from you. Maybe we’ll be able to speak face to face soon. Not too soon, though, I hope._   
_Perry._

 

I then replace the notepad and hide my key again. Alright, time to join the others.

It looks like Zee is explaining everything to the new kids. Just as well, now I won’t have to do it.

“Listen up!” I call. The words I mean to say dry up in my throat when my eyes land on Monty. I address him. “Now that you’re here, we need to step up our schedule.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demands. The original gang shifts uncomfortably, but I refuse to waver.

“Since you’re one of us, we need to get out of general population before they take you away. I wanted to save you this time, anyway, so I set up a warning ahead of time.”

“‘This time?’ ‘Take me away?’ What does that even mean?”

I glance at Zee, and he shrugs. He obviously didn’t mention our previous runs. I’m on my own here.

“Down below, Cross is experimenting on prisoners. Without intervention, he’ll take you and turn you into one of his soldiers.” I nod at a frozen blacksuit in Cross’s procession, if only to avoid Monty’s darkening glare. “Just like the rest.”

“So I was right,” he accuses, and I look back at him to find the same accusation I point at myself. I force myself not to look away. “You don’t actually care about us, do you?”

I stare blankly at him, trying to find the energy to respond to that. He doesn’t back down, but then, I didn’t exactly expect him to. I still don’t know if he’s one of us, or if his words come from myself. After a minute or so of silence, I avert my eyes and let out a breath.

“Listen, Monty. I’ve watched you get turned into a blacksuit more times than I can count. I decided that I can’t stand to see it again. You may be right, but I would rather die than see another one of my friends be torn apart and sewn back together in this place.”

He doesn’t respond, so I turn to the others. Only Connor will meet my eyes. The others’ faces are twisted in semblances of grief. I set myself and begin again. I don’t want to think about this.

“I’ve shifted a few things in the prison’s schedule in the short time I had on the surface. When Gary gets here, we’ll have a week to prepare. We have quite a while before then, but we’re going to need Gary to get out of here.” I pause and consider what else I need to tell them upfront. “After we blow out, we probably won’t be able to talk in secret like this.”

“How’d it go last time? You know, if it’s so different now?” I consider Jimmy and his question, trying to decide how much to tell him. The silence doesn’t last long enough to become awkward before I break it.

“I couldn’t save Monty. He was turned into a monster down below. I’d wormed myself into the Skulls in time to keep the gang from getting taken over by Gary. We lost Kevin and I took control of the gang to keep things on track.” My fingers remember the tacky blood, and I clench my fist to chase the feeling away as I speak.

“Hey.” Connor’s voice brings me back and I shake my head slightly. I turn to see him eying me with concern. I flash him a grimace before looking back at the now queasy-looking Jimmy.

“Gary picked a fight with me soon after and he was sent down to the infirmary early,” I continue briskly. “We almost didn’t get out of the prison because of that. It’s too dangerous to risk it again.”

“And that’s the _only_ reason you wanted to save me?”

I turn my eyes back on Monty, not wanting to answer. He seems to take my silence to mean the worst, but I’m honestly just too exhausted to get into this with him.

“We already have some gas stored away,” Dominic blurts.

I give him a nod, grateful for the subject change, and return his smile. He doesn’t expand on his outburst, so I look to the others for confirmation.

Connor rolls his eyes and steps forward. “Not that much. It’ll probably shave off a couple days of gathering, though.”

I grin and finally relax. I can’t help myself, rounding the group to catch the old crowd in hugs. Kevin grumbles, Donovan laughs, Dominic smiles sheepishly, and Alex and Zee both hug me just as tightly. I save Connor for last, holding him longer and tighter than the others. When I pull back, I breathe a sigh of relief at how good he looks.

Healthy. Unhurt. Alive.

I wonder, again, how long he’s been here.

“God, I missed all of you so much,” I say, my hand still lingering on Connor’s arm. “Have you counted how many you have? Carried them to the crack?” I list out more questions that I don’t really expect answers to as Donovan leads the way to the chipping rooms.

Connor leans closer to whisper to me as we enter the wide room. I stop, and he pauses beside me, almost looking like he might turn into one of the two open rooms. “A lot longer than you, if you really want to know.”

“How long?” I press, my lips barely moving.

He doesn’t answer, striding ahead of me with an infuriating smile. He takes an offered helmet from Zee, turns its light on, and ducks into Room Two, the only entryway boarded up out of the three. I huff and cross the room to take a helmet of my own from the floor and join the others in the darkness of the blocked room.

Peering into the pitch black, it hits me again that we’re underground. There’s a mile or more of rock above my head, and I screw my eyes shut to try and push the thought away again. I’m fine.

 _I’m fine_.

I’m always fine.

A hand closes around mine, and I open my eyes. Connor, his eyes shining in the light filtering in from the main chipping room, watches me steadily. I grip his hand tight, and he squeezes mine in return.

“Hey. You’ll start time again if you aren’t careful,” he says. The words sound like an admonishment, but his voice is gentle. I ground myself on those words and nod. He pats the top of my helmet, grinning.

He doesn’t let go of my hand, and I’m grateful.

I inspect the floor beneath the slats of the boards designating Room Two as off-limits. There aren’t any gloves here, so I shake off the last of my worry and continue into the room.

Lights dance further ahead, the others rushing on. We walk in relative silence, trying to ignore the eerie echoing of voices up ahead. We pick our way over and around fallen rocks, evidence of the cave-in. I stop, once or twice, to take a breath and remind myself that this is fine.

Even if it would be all kinds of embarrassing to die in a cave-in when I’m planning on picking a fight with the closest thing to the devil I can imagine.

The gentle sound of the distant river quickly picks up, and I remember how Alex thought it was one of Cross’s dogs when he first discovered this place. It’s certainly loud enough, and the river is so much more dangerous than the dogs.

At least with the dogs, running sometimes works.

“You’re fifteen here, yeah?”

I look up to Connor. The beam of my light misses him, and his face remains in darkness under his helmet. His eyes glint in the ambient light, bringing the silver eyes of Cross’s suits and rats to mind.

At the thought, his light jerks away and points straight ahead once more. I follow suit, keeping my eyes on the path ahead of us.

“Yeah. Sixteen next month,” I answer solemnly.

“Right, right,” he mutters, distracted. “Then it would be three years. A little more than that, maybe.”

I stop. Looking back up at Connor, my light hits his chest and lights up his face. He doesn’t seem bothered, but that’s so _long._

_Three years?_

In the low light, I can’t tell if his expression is a smile or a grimace. He tugs on my hand and I trail behind him, shaking my head. If he really doesn’t mind, I shouldn’t worry about it.

We don’t talk for the rest of the journey, though it isn’t very far. We come to the gathering of our small group, the roar of the river beyond the rock wall overpowering almost everything else. The chill in the air soothes my frayed nerves, and I let go of Connor’s hand to join the others. Donovan makes a wisecrack about the two of us taking so long, and I knock into his shoulder as I pass. Most of us laugh, but I catch Monty and Jimmy conversing near the edge of the group. I’ll leave them alone for now.

Instead, I focus on the long crack in the floor, maybe six inches wide, cutting through a few yards of the red rock. I trail my gaze along the break in the otherwise solid rock until my light falls on the collection of gloves poking out of the crack near the wall.

I immediately turn around and focus a feigned glare on Connor.

“What?” He shrugs, not even trying to hide his snicker, and the sound broadens my grin.

“Only a few? Ass.” I can’t hold back my own gale of laughter when I run forward to count the yellow gloves.

We have a headstart of 30 gloves. We need about 150 if we want to break through the rock without death chasing us. Timing won’t be a problem at all now.

As we all leave the closed chipping room, I warn Kevin about my plans for the day. He seems dubious, at best, but I’m not sure if that’s because of the plan or him thinking I’m wrong on principle. He doesn’t argue much though, which I take as an agreement.

I duck out of Room Two, last again, and make my way back to the yellow ring. I check to make sure that everyone’s back where they belong. Still, to be sure, I call out a warning before lifting my hands.

With a sharp clap, I return the flow of time to normal. I watch the warden, my gaze steady. He’s been dealing with the Cube long enough that he should be able to—

He pauses before leaving, straightening his jacket and scowling back at me. I flash him a grin before turning away. He knows, for better or for worse.

I meet with Alex, Jimmy, Monty, and Zee in front of my cell.

“So, normal life. We can hide the gloves in my empty bunk. Make sure you keep your heads down, the last thing we need is for the the other inmates to get wind of what’s going on.”

“Rubber gloves full of gas; do you really think I’m stupid enough to think that’ll work?” Monty scoffs. This is getting more than a little exhausting. I’m almost 90% sure he’s not sentient, that he’s just me hitting myself over the head with a branch. I deserve it, probably.

“Think what you want. We all have more important shit to do than convince you that we’re right.”

~-S-~

I lounge in my cell, waiting for lunch. Sometimes, someone will notice me watching and make towards my cell. They always find themselves distracted by something or other, though. It takes several rounds of this for me to make the connection.

Skulls. Every time, a Skull distracts, deflects, or picks fights with anyone getting too close. Kevin must be behind that, that piece of garbage.

When the first few inmates begin drifting toward the mess hall, I stand and head that way as well. I might as well try to get some food for myself before I start a fight. Somehow, I make it there without any distractions.

How convenient.

Maybe I should check my settings, kick the difficulty up a notch. I allow myself a laugh at that, attracting a couple glances. I don’t know how I would even go about a change like that, but I can still hope.

The trough room itself is about the size of a high school gymnasium, rows of rusting tables fit with matching benches. I skirt around the edges, eyes on the counter surrounded by inmates clamoring for food, trying to ignore the open glares from those already seated.

They have every right to hate me, of course. I worked for Furnace, and most of these kids already know that. The ones that don’t will be filled in by the end of the day, I’m sure.

Approaching the counter, I lift a metal tray and follow the example of those ahead of me, holding it out in expectation of slop. It doesn’t look good, not in any sense, but it’s still food.

None comes, and I narrow my eyes at the boy behind the counter.

“We’re out,” he says in a deadpan as the kid next to him drops a spoonful of the gunk on another’s tray.

I tighten my grip on the tray, struggling to push the irritation down. I can’t start a fight, not yet. I force a smile and pull the tray back out of his reach.

“Of course,” I murmur. His answering grin is gloating. I drop the tray, watching his smile slip with the clatter of the metal on the counter. I turn and push back through the crowd to lean against the wall near the door.

I guess I’ll just wait.

Moments later, Kevin and a few Skulls, including Connor, filter into the trough room. Connor pauses when he sees me, but only barely. He recovers quickly and stays with the group. They obviously have no trouble getting _their_ food, as big, bad gang members. I scowl and watch them take a seat not far away.

I stare at them, frowning. Connor meets my gaze and leans over to whisper to Kevin. He doesn’t show any sign that he sees me and leisurely finishes his slop. I bite my tongue to quell my impatience.

Kevin drops his spoon. I step forward. I watch with mild interest as a few of the gang members tense up, as if to stop me. None of them do it, though. In fact, they move aside as I approach. I stop across the table from Kevin.

“You want somethin', Furnace?” he drawls.

“I have a proposal for you,” I say, all trace of my anxiety from the real world gone. “A game.”

“This ain’t the place for games, sweetheart,” Kevin answers.

Prick.

“A wager, then?” I concede. “Would you be interested in that? You certainly look the type.”

“Maybe we could work something out. Whatchu got in mind?”

“Well,” I tilt my head with a sly smile. “How about a fight?”

The Skulls laugh, but Kevin’s icy glare shuts them up fast. His apparent boredom only shifts marginally when he looks back to me

“Who’s gonna fight?”

“Me—” I reach forward to tap his nose. “—and you.”

He catches my hand when I’m pulling it back and refuses to let go. He gives me an _intimidating glare_ , and I return his gaze with feigned innocence. He lets go and leans back.

“Whatchu want if you win?”

I drop the smile. “I want you to let my friends and I into your little gang here.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and he chuckles. “And if I win?”

I slide onto the table’s bench, finally letting go of the innocent air I’d been trying to maintain.

“I can do anything that you want, _sweetheart_ , anything at all.” He sucks in a breath. I laugh and hold a hand out. “Deal?”

He eyes me for only a moment longer, then catches my hand in his.

“Deal.”


	4. Friends Don't Let Friends Lose Prison Fights

Alex and Zee stop me when I leave the trough room. I try to greet them with a grin to let them know that there weren’t any problems, but I’m not sure how successful I am.

“You were supposed to go to your cells,” I say, more as a formality than anything. “If there had been a lockdown, you could have been stuck down here.”

“You know we can make it up, no sweat.” Zee laughs uneasily. “What were you doing in there, anyway?”

I laugh, not so uneasily.

“Letting the Skulls think I was seducing their leader.” Or actually seducing their leader, depending on how you look at it. “No sweat.”

“I thought we were trying to ally with them,” Alex says.

I beckon them to follow me across the yard. It’s too open out here.

“I challenged Kevin to a fight.” Their brows pinch even closer together. “Whether I win or not, it means the same thing—protection and communication.”

“You _will_ win, right?” Zee clarifies. We arrive at my cell, and I pause at the threshold.

“I might.” They both start an argument at the same time, and I sigh. “Look, I put certain limits on the world this time. I’m just a person if I can’t concentrate.”

“Does Kevin know that?”

I frown. “Are you worried about me? Or yourselves?”

They exchange glances.

“We can protect ourselves. Kevin can be a monster, and if he’s expected to act like one…” Alex looks away, and I follow his gaze to see the Skulls trooping out of the trough room behind Kevin. When he looks back, I give him a tight smile.

“Don’t forget who I am, Alex. I’ll be fine.”

He doesn’t look so sure, but I decide to let it lie. I can’t deny that even I’m pushing my trust in Kevin to the absolute breaking point.

I sweep my gaze around the yard and sigh, drained. “I’m gonna go rest up.”

“Lockdown isn’t for awhile, I don’t think,” Zee says, giving me a worried frown.

I shrug. “I know. I’ve got a trick or two up my sleeve to keep unwelcome guests out.”

After some more debate, they leave and I enter my new home.

The cell itself is about the size of my bathroom at home. A toilet, metal and starting to rust, sits affixed to the wall straight ahead. The bunk bed jammed into the far corner doesn’t look very reliable.

I shake my head and look back out through the bars to the yard. There’s no better time to do this than now, I guess.

With a sharp exhale, I breathe out an illusion, a shield between my cell and the yard. As far as they can see, it’s an empty room. Looking out, the world warps slightly, as if I’m viewing an aquarium exhibit. As if I’m not part of the freakshow.

I shove the thought from my mind and vault into the top bunk. Some sleep will do me well. It’s been a long day, only made longer by my meddling with time. Then there’s the nectar. The weight of it here is starting to get to me, like a recovering addict in a meth house.

Not that I’m really recovering. I’m here after all, and that means that I’m back for more of that filth. The essence of it in the air here is so thick that I can almost taste it.

Gazing at my hands, I hold on to the humanity I still have. This version of me has never had nectar, even if I remember the thrum of it. I wonder how long it will take me to ravage _this_ body.

My track record isn’t good, so it’s best not to ponder it.

I turn my eyes to the inmates milling around in the yard. They don’t even realize what’s happening beneath their feet. Oh, they know something’s wrong. They have to know that the Warden, the suits, the wheezers are all _wrong_. But they don’t know just how bad it is, the experimentation, the death, the evil.

I catch sight of Connor on the other side of the yard, talking with another inmate. He looks annoyed, and I try to imagine what they could be talking about. As I lay down, as close to the wall as I can, I wonder if he was right.

Maybe this isn’t healthy.

~-S-~

I sit in a cell, looking out. This isn’t Furnace, the world outside a brightly lit hallway. The cell itself is smaller, empty save for myself and a foul odor.

No, this isn’t Furnace.

It’s a dream.

I stand, legs weak and shaky, and press against the bars to peer into the darkness. The opposite wall is covered in doors, and I recognize it as the cell blocks back in the Cube. Stepping back from the bars, I cross my emaciated arms.

This isn’t a normal dream borne of the nectar. The feeling of calm, while unsettling, isn’t what I would expect from my first night in the prison. This isn’t a view that I ever wanted to see with my own eyes, looking out from this side of the cells.

_No…_

I cock my head to listen, freezing as the ghostly wail floats through the hall. The voice is unfamiliar, and I disregard it after a moment. These dreams are nothing more than memory, there’s nothing I can do.

I blink and the view transforms. The light disappears, and I blink until my eyes adjust. The cell stays firmly around me, but outside a spiral path twists up and connects my cell to countless others. Each of the other cells holds several children.

Ah. This is more like it.

Between each cell, on the other side of the room, a red banner hangs with a swastika emblazoned on each. Now we’re back in the memories that the nectar favors. I grimace and turn away.

There are several other kids in my cell now, all unfamiliar and all pleading. None of them seem to have the strength to stand, so I kneel alongside them.

 _It’s okay,_ I murmur. The words that come out, I don’t understand, but the meaning is clear. _This isn’t the end._

Talking to the boys in the memory, I still feel a twinge of guilt about lying to them. Each of these boys will be dead or under the wheezers’ knife by the end of the week. I’m sure they can see the truth in my eyes, hear it in my voice.

Still, they cling to my arms with fingers as thin and fragile as twigs. I sit in the middle of this group, three little boys holding onto what little hope they have left.

Still, we hold each other when boots begin to thud up the path.

We hold each other when they stop outside of our cell.

Even as I’m being dragged away, the boys try to hold on. It breaks my heart, the question and fear in their eyes. Cold metal pushes against the back of my head. Even as the shot rings out, one of the boys’ voice echoes in the darkness.

_This isn’t the end._

~-S-~

I shout out, the phantom pain the back of my head pushing me upright.

My skull makes contact with the ceiling, and I can’t hold back a curse. Slowly, as my heart rate slows and I remember where I am, I rub my head. The ghost of a hole in the back of my head fades, but the real pain on my crown still throbs.

_Welcome to Furnace._

I chuckle, tired, and turn to look into the yard.

The only light in the prison is the softly glowing screen above the elevator leading to the surface. For all I know, this could be another trick of the dreams to send me spiraling further into Furnace’s hell.

Although I know I should sleep longer, I end up swinging out of bed and dropping to the ground before I can think better of it. The light from the screen would have kept me up, anyway.

I pace, running through the plan. I always feel like I’m forgetting something. The world could end, and I’ll still feel like I’m forgetting something.

I don’t know what plans Cross has, so it’s all up in the air after we break out. If all goes well, we should be back on the surface within five months. If not, we’ll likely never see the surface before we end up back in the Cube. After that, well…

“Hey.”

I jump, thrown off balance. A blacksuit sits next to my cell, his silver eyes fixed on me. I drop to the floor next to the bars and can’t help a smile.

“What’s up?”

“Just checking on you,” he says. “We were starting to wonder if you were ever showing up.”

I smile but don’t respond. Many of them were happy with their life in the Cube. I told Connor to give them the option to stay there with the Scouts, but they chose this. I don’t understand it. We chat for a while. I ask about the Scouts, but he claims to have been in the universe too long to remember any details. When he turns it around and ask if they’ve contacted me, I pull conversation back to the prison.

“Look, I need to tell you something,” he says, lowering his voice. “Down there, he’s doing something to the new recruits. Rumor has it, he’s trying to turn them against you.”

A weight settles in my stomach, cold and heavy. I sit in silence long enough for him to look back at me. I try to calm down. This is how the game is played after all.

“Is it working?”

“Not yet.”

I can’t suppress a sardonic laugh. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Are you okay?”

“Our mutual _friend_ is an ass.” I rock back on my heels. “I’m done pulling punches. You guys deserve better than that _prick_.”

“So, you’re going to kill him?”

I don’t answer, standing and turning away. I chew the inside of my cheek, already drifting away. He seems to take my silence as an affirmation.

“I don’t blame you,” he says, his chuckle a soft growl in the darkness. “We’re all rooting for you. Good luck, _Sawyer_.”

I turn back fast enough to catch his wink before he turns away, and I wonder how he knows about my name change. Connor, maybe? I wonder how else he busied himself while he was waiting for me. Watching the suit go, I’m left in the cell by myself. I stare blankly at my bunk and wonder just what the hell I’m doing here. It’s hot, I’m underground, and everyone here wants to kill me.

What am I going to do when Cross gets his little experiment to work? I resume pacing, allowing my fingers to itch at my forearm. There really isn’t anything I can do about it for now. It’s not a problem.

Until it _is_ a problem.

I climb back into my bunk to put together ideas on how best to end my _brother_ ’s life. From here, there isn’t much I can do. An inmate in his prison, he could choose to kill _me_ at any time. As if that would help him in the long run. I allow myself a laugh, the sound becoming a shocked squeak when the lights suddenly come on. Jolting upright, I smack my head against the ceiling a second time.

“Shit!” I hiss, pressing the heel of my hand against my throbbing forehead.

Still, I heave myself out of bed. I only have to wait a few minutes for the bars to rattle open. I almost leave, but I hesitate with a glance at the bed. I’m just a little worried that someone will target me and ruin my stuff. They did it to Alex, after all, in the original books. When I turn around, Kevin stands in the doorway. I start, more surprised than anything. Isn’t his cell on the fourth floor?

“How fast did you have to run to get down here?”

He ignores that, nodding to someone out of sight. Two Skulls step in front of my cell, and I sigh. “These two’ll make sure you don’t slip outta our match, sweetheart.”

He flashes me a wicked grin and leaves, the others staying in my doorway. I watch him go, brow furrowed. He’s getting really into this charade. The two cronies don’t move when I start for the cell door, and I pause. With a swift glance, I appraise them. They still don’t move.

I smile.

“If you don’t move, I’ll be forced to move you myself.”

They exchange glances and smirk. Still, they stay in place. I sigh.

My hand twitches, and they crumple to the ground as one. Their eyes glazed, they struggle and fail to find their feet.

“You shouldn’t underestimate anyone in a place like this, you know.”

I catch Kevin watching me from the door of the trough room when I start over there myself. I don’t acknowledge anyone while I grab a tray.

This time, I successfully acquire a meal. I do my best to force the sludge they call food here down my throat. It makes me think of runny Malt-o-Meal, so it tickles my gag reflex more than a little.

The two boys I floored are just entering the mess hall as I stand to leave. I feel them glowering at me, but when all three of us find ourselves in Room One of the chipping halls, I note with satisfaction that they find a place on the opposite side of the room with their picks and hard hats.

I fantasize about breaking Cross’s face in while I work. No one tries to start shit, thankfully, so I’m able to stew in my own head until the standing guard calls for the end of the work day. I have no idea how much rock I cleared, but the anger lingering from the assault leaves my throat thick. I need to control myself.

I don’t realize how sore all of this turns my muscles until I have to stop. Trying to use my arms for something _other_ than swinging a pick at a wall? No thanks.

Still, I fight through it and drag the thing back to the equipment racks. On the way, I roll my shoulders and try to work the kinks out of them. By the time I abandon my equipment and enter the shower rooms, my arms and back almost feel normal again.

If I can excuse the underlying ache in my entire body, that is.

I always forget about this part. The communal showering part.

 

It's an uncomfortable affair, in all. The cold spray, the leery eyes, but no one comes near me. I catch sight of Connor, at some point, across the room. He’s talking with one of the boys Kevin told to keep an eye on me, not looking particularly interested. Then he shoots a startled glance at me and laughs. The boy looks taken aback, and that quickly morphs into irritation. Connor can’t seem to take the conversation seriously anymore, and the boy eventually walks away.

Connor looks at me as if sharing a joke and shakes his head.

The moment the water stops, I step into the first clean set of overalls I find, now that the dirty ones have been replaced. I half expect Connor to come find me when I enter the yard, but he walks by without a backward glance to join several Skulls at a table.

Something about Connor wearing the Skulls bandana feels wrong. I loiter next to the opening to the chipping rooms, watching him. His sandy hair is longer than I’ve ever seen it, falling down his back past his shoulders even with the cloth on his head.

He looks up, turning curious eyes on me for just an instant before returning to his game. None of the Skulls seem to have noticed. I shrug and move on, reaching out my awareness to brush his as I pass. He returns the gesture, though his voice doesn’t waver at all in his conversation with the Skulls.

I head for an opening in the rock just under the first set of stairs to the upper levels. It’s guarded by two inmates, but they don’t stop me.

The exercise machines must have all been moved to the side years ago, leaving a ring in the center. The rock has been worn down, stained a deep red by the blood shed here mixing with the rusty dust lining the entire prison. The room is still empty, and I cross to the center of the circle. Bending down, I rest my fingertips on the dark floor.

The pain of the hundreds of inmates beaten bloody on this spot buzzes over my skin. If I try, I could probably feel the evidence of my own fights, the ones from other worlds. All of this hurt can’t be limited to this one. If all of these universes are connected by one place, I could almost believe this is it. I always thought it would be the island or the tower, but—

“Hey.”

I slowly stand and turn around to face Kevin. He only has one Skull with him hovering in the doorway.

I don’t say anything, just stand in the center of the bloody ring. I’m too aware of my aching muscles, all of the weakness. I don’t know if I’ll last long in a real fight against him, and I don’t know if he knows that or not.

I step back, to the far end of the ring. He steps into it, motioning for his buddy to stay back.

A few others show up, but the first keeps them from entering the room. The newcomers are forced to watch from the doorway. Kevin seems to be waiting for the crowd to grow, which I can appreciate.

He wants a show. I'll be sure to give him one, then. I put on an easy smile. Arrogant, self-assured.

“So, big boy, you still think this is a good idea?” When I slip into a confident stance, he does the same. Good. This would have been exhausting if I'd had to hold his hand through the whole thing.

“Pretty damn sure. You having second thoughts?” We're slowly circling each other by now. I hope he'll make the first move. I'm much better with defensive work than offensive.

A small timer appears in the corner of my eye.

He gives himself away somehow. A subtle tensing, or a change of expression. He doesn't pull his hand back, but I can still feel the punch coming. The timer starts. In the split second I have to react, I make a decision. This is how it will go. It takes all of my willpower to merely throw up a shield of thought.

I don't move.

My shield protects me from the worst of it. The pain, when his fist connects with my gut, isn't that awful. I still double over, though, and he slams his elbow into my spine. I try to protect myself with another shield, but I can’t focus enough to make it form.

This one _hurts_.

I cry out, my mind racing for a way to salvage my pride _and_ avoid obviously throwing the fight. The moment his hands leave me, he kicks me to the ground.

This is good, I tell myself. Barely two seconds into the fight and I’m already getting wrecked. I take a moment to assess myself internally and find that the damage is minimal.

Thank god.

I stay down, feigning groans of pain. The boys outside cheer in the background, feeding the static hiss in the back of my head.

I hear Kevin approaching. Slowly, calmly. I take in a breath and _focus_. I can do anything if I can keep my fucking head. I visualize what I need to do, imagine it, run the reel over the back of my eyelids while I wait.

He stops.

 _Now_.

I slam my hand against the ground, kicking out to sweep his feet out from under him. My momentum brings me stumbling to my feet.

I wait for him to scramble up, taking the moment to catch my breath, then I catch him in the jaw and grasp his shoulder to keep him from reeling back. He has just enough time to realize what I'm about to do and start to twist away.

He's too late.

I swing my knee up to kick him between the legs. I shove him back and watch him fall. He'll recover, and it's his choice whether this continues or not.

I try to gather myself, but I don’t have time. He comes up again, his stance still awkward. His nose bleeds freely, but he does nothing to stem it.

I shrug, smiling. “Haven’t you had enough?”

He grunts in response and rushes me. It’s sloppy, and I could easily trip him. Instead, I sidestep and push him square in the back. His momentum throws him out of the ring and back onto the ground. He gives me no choice if he’s refusing to actually fight.

I stride to him and plant my foot on his back. I lean down, whispering so the crowd can’t hear.

“Stop holding back.”

I clench my fists, then loosen them. This is the choice I’ve made. This is the way it needs to go. I hope it’s the right thing to do.

The moment I move my foot, he jumps up swinging. I block it and counter with an uppercut to the stomach. He cringes, coughing, but he takes advantage of my occupied hands before I can really recover. He takes the opportunity to jab me in the throat.

I stumble back, retching. Fuck, that hurt. It distracts me enough the I don’t notice his fist until—  

Flashes of light blot out my vision.

I realize that I’m on the ground, and this confirms it: It’s over. My shields still won’t come up, the static filling my head until his next strike seems to come out of nowhere. In a moment of panicked delirium, I wonder if it hurts to kick someone so many times with paper shoes. It has to, right?

I think he’s saying something, but I can’t hear him. The ringing in my ears diminishes before he finishes, though, and I hear the crowd cheering. He nudges me onto my back, smirking.

“Looks like you’re mine, sweetheart.” He doesn’t wink. He doesn’t give me any sign. I guess I deserve this for egging him on so much. “What? No jokes? Nothing?”

He kicks again.

It brings a little life to my mind when the shield I try to throw actually absorbs the hit.

This boy has no self control, and he gets carried away so easily. I wonder briefly if I made the wrong choice. I glance at the timer, grimacing at the blinking 38.47 seconds. Such a short fight, and I’m a mess. I split my lips into a weak, bloody smile anyway.

“You’re such an ass,” I mutter, barely loud enough for him to hear. I don’t think I could speak louder if I tried. His face twists into one of anger, and he moves to kick me again.

“Kevin.”

He freezes.

I slide my gaze over to see that Connor has pushed his way into the gym. His eyes are hard, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“What do _you_ want?” The bloody boy demands without turning.

“What did I tell you?” Saying nothing more, he watches him steadily.

Kevin slowly lowers his foot and steps away from me. As the crowd outside begins to dissipate, I struggle to sit up. Connor shoves past Kevin and kneels at my side, pressing me back down.

“What did you do?” I ask, cringing at the blood filling my mouth. That’s not right.

“I told him that he wouldn’t survive the week if you can’t stand at the end of this fight.” He smiles and cups my cheek with one hand, his other lightly resting on my stomach. His eyes go out of focus for a moment, then he sighs in resignation. “You’ll need to fix that.”

“It’ll be fine. I have something to tell you,” I murmur. “It’s important.”

He hushes me before I can continue.

“Later. I know you threw the fight, and you’ll have to live with the consequences. Dummy.” He pats my cheek and stands.

 _Dummy?_ What a dork.

He calls for the remaining Skulls to clear out. He looks back once before leaving me alone with Kevin again.

Kevin paces near the door, and I watch him warily as I slowly sit up. My head spins, blood still trickles down my chin, and my body feels like a disaster zone, but I can still move. I’ll be fine.

“Did you really throw the fight?”

I narrow my eyes, trying to focus on Kevin. He’s stopped pacing, watching me now. I wipe my mouth and stare at the blood on my hand. I need to find out what Connor saw in there. After a moment, I look back at him.

“Yeah.” I give him a tight smile before spitting out a glob of blood. “You still won. Just make sure you keep your end of the deal.”

He takes a step toward me, but I raise a hand and he stops. I chuckle weakly and rest the same hand on my midsection. Pain lances up my sides and I have to force myself to calm down.

“Oh, shit,” I hiss, probing my awareness around my organs. I find a few ribs cracked, one broken, and... “My liver’s bleeding, hang on.”

Kevin watches in horrified fascination as I phase my hand into my abdomen. It takes a minute for me to find the rupture and run a healing finger over it. I do the same with my ribs and slowly check for other damage I may have missed, but I don’t find anything.

Everything is fine. I pull my hand out and wipe most of the blood off on my overalls.

“That’s crazy.” I can hear the uneasiness in his voice before looking and seeing it on his face. I shrug.

“This is nothing.”

I spit more blood out and wipe any remaining grossness off of my face with a sleeve. With this done, I heave my aching body upright and stride forward to stop directly in front of Kevin. I put on a demure mask when I look up at him, reaching a hand out to cup his face. I catch a hint of a flinch, and it makes me smile.

“It’s time for you to go brag about your victory and for me to slink back to my cell. Enjoy this while it lasts.” I pause and pat his cheek. “Boss.”


	5. Reverse Nepotism

When I reach the yard, I walk close to the walls. I’m so focused on putting one foot in front of the other, eyes on the entrance to my cell, that I don’t notice Connor until he stands in front of me. His lips ask if I’m okay, but the words just sound like noise.

I wave him away, and he backs off. I screw my eyes shut, ground myself with the feeling of rock under my thin shoes, and the strange feeling disappears. Or lessens. The world doesn’t feel like static when I open my eyes again, at least.

I have the foresight to throw up another illusion to keep nosy inmates from seeing the two of us talking. I don’t know what it looks like from the outside, and I don’t really care.

I look to Connor, surprised when I see his brows creased. They smooth in an instant, but his concern remains when he rests a hand against my arm.

“ _Are_ you okay?” he asks, his gentle words accompanied by a brush of his mind against mine and his lips ghosting against my forehead.

I curl my fists. He hasn’t been back long enough for me to throw all of this at him at once. He can’t be my safety net. Not anymore.

“I’m fine,” I promise. I step out of his grasp, past him, and climb into the top bunk. Connor takes a seat on the bottom, so I can’t see him.

“Did you hurt him?”

I can’t help but smile at the hope in his voice. I flop onto my stomach and reach my hand into the open air between the bunks. He catches my hand and guides it to his head. I gently run my fingertips over his hair before letting my arm swing freely over the edge.

“No. I didn’t do anything.” The silence between us, for the first time in a long time, isn’t heavy. I swipe over his head again. “I missed you. I still do.”

“This was your idea”

“I know.”

Quiet reigns again.

I twist a lock of hair between my fingers, and he absently entwines his fingers with mine to stop me. I haven’t felt this at ease in his company in more than two years—for him, it’s been upwards of five.

It feels like a part of the broken connection between us has healed.

I’m not sure how long we’ve been sitting when he lets go of my hand. I poke my head over the side of the bed to see his eyes grow hard. I look up and scowl at the sight of Kevin ambling over to the cell.

I force myself to sit up, willing my body to stop protesting quite so vigorously.

He stops when he enters, the illusion of my shield shattered. His confusion gives me a chance to see just how badly he came out of the fight.

A nasty bruise spreads from his nose to his left eye and blood still trickles from his nostrils. Dark stains on his sleeves confirm that the bleed _was_ much worse.

I slide from the top bunk to stand at his side. I threw the fight, might as well play the part. He catches me around the shoulders possessively and turns a smug grin on Connor.

He stands, barely attempting to hide his irritation. He glances at me, but does nothing else to keep me from becoming a passive bystander. .

“What happened to your face, boss?” Connor asks, leaning against my bed.

“Always got somethin’ to say, don’t ya’ Sawyer?”

Connor averts his eyes moodily. “If you kept going, you’d have ruined everything before we even got started.”

“Shove it. I thought the whole idea’s not to make a scene. Sure _made a scene_ stoppin’ that fight.”

Connor doesn’t say anything. I reach my mind out to his, but I can’t get past the tension crackling like electricity. I furrow my brows. He doesn’t seem to notice anything, now turned away.

Kevin breaks my concentration by brushing my hair back from my ear. His breath tickles my neck as he leans close. I suppress an uncomfortable shiver, but I angle my head toward him to let him know I’m listening.

“Teach him a lesson,” he murmurs.

I freeze, turned to stone at the command. Connor shows no sign that he heard, glazed eyes fixed on the wall of the cell. I try again to reach him, but a wall of worry remains in my way.

“Perry, you hear me?” Kevin shakes me, his grip on my shoulder tightening.

Yeah, _no_.

I push away from him, matching the glare he turns on me. “You’re crossing a line, and you know it.”

Connor finally looks up, his eyes asking his questions for him. I don’t have time to answer now, especially if he’s not _listening_ to me. I need to handle this myself.

“I won the fight.” Kevin’s voice doesn’t raise, insistent petulance remaining his defining feature. At least he’s reliable for one thing. “You’re supposed to listen.”

_Is he serious?_

“The fight?” I hack out a laugh. “No, that’s not how this works.”

“But—”

“ _No._ ” I have to keep a snarl out of my voice, reminding myself that we’re all supposed to be on the same side. “If you think I’m giving up control to you, you’re crazy. I’m not scared to do this without you. Again.”

The blood drains from Kevin’s face. He shoots a nervous glance at Connor, as if expecting reassurance from him. He gets none, merely a shrug as the two of us await his response.

“This is—” He flicks his eyes between us and licks his lips, fidgeting. “I knew I should’a stayed home.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Connor asks, peeved. “I gave you every chance to back out.”

“I— You—” Kevin splutters, his anger building up again. “What ‘bout you? Why’d you come back to this shitshow?”

Connor glances at me, hesitating. Kevin catches it and grins, latching onto whatever he can, it seems, to stay in control of the situation.

“That’s it, innit? Gotta follow her—” At that, Connor’s lip curls. “—everywhere, don’tcha?”

“Kevin,” I mutter, but he ignores my warning.

“Gotta trot behind her like a puppy, never mind that she doesn’t care none about us.” Kevin’s smile turns snide, more of a sneer than anything else. “Think you’re different from the rest of us? She’d let you die in a second, just watch her.”

If he says anything else, I don’t hear him. He doesn’t know anything. I know he’s just trying to rile Connor up. I know he’s shooting in the dark for what might hurt him, but he has shitty aim. I’ll wipe that smug grin off his face.

A hand closes around my wrist before I can make a move.

The warmth from Connor’s grip spreads like fire from the point of contact to my other hand, curled into a fist. It soothes my nerves, stealing away my desire to drive my knuckles into Kevin’s mouth.

I swallow hard and take a step back.

Connor lets go. I turn my back on the boys, not wanting to think about what just passed between us with Kevin still here. I need him to leave. He needs to go, Connor and I need to talk.

_Really_ talk.

The static crowds in. The same sparks keeping me from Connor’s thoughts, that turned his words to nothing, it all presses in. Even the voices behind me disappear, swallowed by the empty white noise. I close my eyes, fists clenched at my sides. Any more than that, Connor will notice and it’ll only get worse.

I thought I would leave this at home if I came here. I thought I would be able to do all of this, but it just won’t go away. It followed me here, though, and isn’t that exactly what I deserve? I dragged us here. Everyone came because Connor asked for me.

They came because I asked.

And that’s not good enough. This is no place for any of them and the _static_ is still _here_.

It’s not real. None of it is real, imaginary hate and pain that I’m putting all of us through. It’s a weekend trip everyone regrets the _second_ you pile in the car, but worse. This is more than a weekend, and we all have to die before it can end.

Tears spring to my eyes, and that seems to be enough to dispel the effect of the static wrapped around me. I stare, once again, at the red rock of my cell wall, tears streaming down my cheeks. After a moment, the argument behind me trickles back in, and I peek over my shoulder to check on them.

“—asked for this, you know!” Kevin leans insolently against the bars.

“You know that you’re pushing too far. They said it themself, why are you still asking for more?” Connor’s mouth presses a hard line, his voice barely level, and the sparks still fly from his mind when I try to reach out.

I was naive to think we could go back to normal so easily.

“She knew what she was doing. _You_ knew,” Kevin says. Connor practically snarls in response, and I stare at him.

I’ve never seen that before.

“We both thought you could be trusted to keep hold of yourself!”

“I can!” Kevin straightens up and includes me in his glare once again. “S’gotta be believable, right? Won’t be if—”

“I don’t care!” Connor hisses, whatever emotion he let slip before wiped from his face, if not his voice. Kevin doesn’t flinch, but I do. “You’re out of control. We can’t do any of this without _them_ , so you’d better think carefully before you try to pull shit like that again.”

I can’t take my eyes off of him. I have _never_ seen Connor lose his temper. I’ve seen him mad, alright, but never like this. Back straight, his voice cold and scathing, it’s like looking at a stranger. I step back, but there’s nowhere to go. The detached look on Connor’s face doesn’t belong there. For the first time since he’s returned, I wish I could have the old Connor back. The simple voice, always happy, even if he was an absolute prick.

At the thought, Connor’s gaze shifts, softer, to me. His head tilts, barely, in my direction, brows furrowed. I must look like shit, because his eyes widen, stricken. He opens his mouth, shifting to face me, but doesn’t get a chance to say anything.

“At least I’m not defending a selfish little whore with a god-complex ‘stead of letting her fight her own battles,” Kevin snarls, shattering the frail contact between me and Connor.

I turn a glare on Kevin, eyes narrowed. A triumphant gleam lights his eyes, but his victory is short lived. I call out when Connor launches himself at him.

They tumble out of the cell, and I don’t see much in the rising dust. I follow them out and scream for them to stop, but a crowd begins to form. They shunt me to the side as they all gather around to cheer the two on and join in. I try to push through, but the crowd is too thick and I’m quickly shoved back into my own cell.

A siren blares. For a terrible second, the prison freezes. All sound but the siren is suspended.

The fight pauses. No one moves. We hold our breath as one.

Then, the second passes.

The whole crowd takes off, dragging the fight along with them. The pounding of feet on stone and shouts from around the yard permeate the air. I flee to my own bed, covering my ears and waiting for it to end.

Finally, it does, and the cells screech shut soon after. I don’t move, don’t even open my eyes. A shock of static fills the air, and I know that the warden’s face is now filling the large screen in the yard. If anything, this makes me cringe further away.

“Good afternoon, children,” Cross says, dangerously cordial. “That was the second skirmish today. It seems as though some of you have more energy than you can deal with, so work hours will be doubled for the next few days.”

A groan passes through the prison like a massive sigh. There it is. At least Connor and Kevin both have power enough here to keep from getting killed by angry inmates.

“We know who’s at fault, however, and you can be assured that she will be punished. Two nights in the hole, I think.”

A block of ice settles in my gut. I open my eyes to see a blacksuit crossing the yard.

No. No, _no, no._

I can’t go down there. Not yet, I can’t. Maybe I should have just fought Connor earlier. He would have forgiven me eventually, and this _wouldn’t be happening._ They’re going to drag me down there and Cross is going to _kill me_.

I mechanically leave my bed to wait. Fighting won’t make this any easier. When the cell slides open, I don’t fight the blacksuit. He grabs my arm and pulls me along. I stare blankly at the cells that we pass, at the hostile glares and smug grins.

I hardly notice the siren screaming out again, turning my eyes to watch Cross in the big screen as the steel door swings open. Just before I pass through the door and lose sight of his shark’s grin, he addresses me directly.

“Busy first week, wouldn’t you say?”

~-S-~

I expect to be thrown directly into solitary, but the blacksuit surprises me by leading me past the steel hatches in the ground. I glance at him but say nothing. My next thought is the infirmary, that we’re skipping the normal back and forth and going straight to the nectar, but when we forgo the plastic flaps of the wheezers’ domain I know exactly where we’re going.

We walk silently down another hall, toward a forked path I’ve taken too many times.

Finally, we turn right and approach a sleek door fitted into the rock wall. The suit stops at the mouth of the hallway. He nods at me before backing away from the opening in the rock.

Even they don’t want to be anywhere near what the room contains, I guess.

I’ve gotten used to the stench of darkness and the gravity of Furnace. I turn the knob and cross the threshold with just a moment of hesitation. It’s almost relieving to be in the presence of this kind of raw power.

But my gaze lingers on the old rotary phone upon the desk as I enter.

The weight on my back seems to double, and my confidence splinters. The phone, sitting innocuously on the smooth wood, stares at me while dread pools in my gut. Sweat breaks on my forehead, and my breath catches.

Then the man behind the desk clears his throat and my crushing intensity of the unease lessens. The room is just a room again, the phone just a phone. The only remaining fear morphs into anger now that I’m actually face to face with the warden.

I only look at Cross for a moment before crossing my arms and averting my eyes. He smiles, always a red flag. I don’t approach him, glaring at the red flag bearing the Furnace logo behind his head. The logo is a mere replacement for his old order’s symbol, and the thought makes my stomach churn.

“Now you’re just being childish,” he says. He retains a note of humor, and, yeah, _that’s_ a bad sign.

I grunt a response that means nothing, and he chuckles. The sound of paper sliding against the wood of the desk piques my interest, all the same.

“Very well. Sit, at the very least.”

After a moment, I grudgingly cross to the chair he gestures to. I drop into it and snatch up the paper he’s offered. I don’t look at it, though, finally regarding him with disdain.

Now, what does he want?

“I was going to find an excuse to bring you down here, but,” he leans forward and rests his chin on steepled fingers. “You decided to start a riot in my prison.”

I tut at his word choice, somehow forcing my frown to deepen.

“That was hardly a riot,” I mutter.

“Semantics.” He waves my words away. I wonder how well it would go over if I just walked away. “You’re here now. I may as well have the pleasure of having you see this in my own office.”

Remembering the paper in my hand, I look down and unfold the thin document. My irritation fades, and I lose hold of the glare I’d planned to retain throughout this meeting.

It’s the blueprint I was working on before coming down here. He’s closed the loopholes I purposefully created, passages that would allow escape under the right circumstances. It’s harsher, reaching further into the ground, and it hurts my heart.

“These are the real ones?” I ask, tracing the passages with a finger. Why would he show me this?

“Yes.” I glance up at him, narrowing my eyes at his lofty tone. He doesn’t look at me, his attention focused on the paper in my hand. “We’re starting construction before the week is out. It will open within a few years.”

He peers at me out of the corner of his eye, his lips quirking up.

Like a slap, I realize what he’s getting at. I don’t answer, looking back at the sketch. He’s just as arrogant as I remember. What, does he think I was _excited_ about the German prison?

Eventually, after I’ve stewed for a while, he breaks the silence.

“You still have the option to join the right side of this, you know.”

“No side with you on it could be the right one,” I answer, voice level.

I struggle to keep my expression just as placid, carefully folding the blueprint. I push it back toward him on the desk, trying and failing to meet his eyes. He’s hiding something, still.

May as well push my luck.

“Are you still doing it?”

He grins. The shark’s smile, so familiar from the suits, chills my blood coming from him. “Doing what, pray tell?”

_You slimy, arrogant, piece of shit._ I don’t answer, can’t let myself answer. He has to know what I’m talking about, there’s no _way_ he doesn’t.

After a length of silence, he looks away. He presses a button and calls me an escort to my cell. “This conversation obviously isn’t over, but you have a lot to think about.”

“You won’t find forgiveness here,” I swear, pushing myself out of my seat. “You’re going to pay for everything eventually.”

I nearly turn, meaning to meet my escort at the door, when his eyes finally catch mine. The office peels away, a flickering series of images replacing it.

A young boy, pinned down, a gas mask stitched to his skin. His shrieks echo, even in the instant he remains in sight.

Trenches, the dead stretched as far as the eye can see, a man that is not a man turning to face me. The shadow consuming him reaches for me before even the man’s face is visible.

A dark orchard, a single raven perched on a branch, its eyes piercing. It opens its beak, its shriek lost in the howls of an unseen beast.

The office snaps back into place, and I have to catch myself to keep from falling back into the chair.  _Someone_ has been skulking in Furnace’s old memories. I don’t look at Cross, I can’t, but I still see the edges of his grin.

I asked for that, and I know it.

“I look forward to it, then.”

A blacksuit I hadn’t noticed entering grabs my arm, but I jerk away.

I turn my eyes on Cross again, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, and I know I must represent everything weak in the world he most despises.

_Well, back at you,_ **_brother_** _._

“I will _never_ stand at your side.”

I turn and sweep out of the room. The blacksuit marches at my side, and I wonder how much he might have heard from that office. He leads me down the hall, all the way back to the hatches in the ground.

One of them waits, open, at my feet.

I finally look to the soldier, not wanting to forget who I’m really fighting for. I recognize him, one of the two that met me at the Black Fort yesterday. He directs a short nod at me.

I manage a smile. A weak one, but still better than nothing.

I clamber down into the hole in the ground, not looking up until after the hatch closes above me, sealing me in complete darkness. I can’t see the hatch, or anything else.

Staring up, shapes seem to move around me. The slithering spectres remain just out of sight, making the chamber seem much larger than it really is. The thought constricts my throat, and breath won’t come to me. I’m back in the dark, in the ground, and I’m going to die here.

I stumble away and my back hits the wall. The darkness settles as if it never moved, my fear releasing its hold on my lungs. Scared of the dark. Scared of the underground. Scared of Cross.

Why did this have to be the universe I’m stuck on?

I need to keep busy. I’ve been here for less than a minute, and I’m already on edge. Though I know the hole’s dimensions from past experience, I map out the tiny cell with shaking hands. If nothing else, this assures me that nothing is hiding here. There’s simply not enough room.

I sit against the wall opposite the hole that calls itself a toilet. I try to fill the silence, recalling songs I love and whistling the ones I can’t. My voice shakes, but the sound itself keeps my breathing steady. Eyes closed, I hope to convince myself that I’m back home.

I almost do.

The clammy sweat on my skin lingers, the scent of decay reaching its slimy fingers even here, all of it reminds me of where I am. The nectar, clinging to everything like the sticky residue of tobacco, threatens to seep through my very skin.

My voice catches, but I don’t open my eyes. The quiet lasts too long, and I can’t think of another tune to replace it with.

> “ ** _Sawyer?_ **”

My fear drains away, and I cock my head uselessly. The voice didn’t come from within the cell, so my ears won’t help me here. I rest my head back against the wall and allow my awareness to leave my body.

I stand above myself, looking down where I’m still shrouded in inky shadow. With a breath, I look up and flash out of the cell. I’m met with a blur of color as I rush along the corridors, up an elevator shaft, and into the empty yard.

The lockdown is still in effect, so there’s only one place he could be.

I rise in the air, scanning the cells until I find him on the fourth floor. Approaching the cell, I find Connor pacing. Dominic lounges on the top bunk, listening to the words tumbling out of Connor’s mouth.

“... for hours and all I’ve gotten from them is flashes. Something’s wrong.”

“It really hasn’t been that long,” Dominic interjects, but Connor doesn’t seem to hear him.

“All of this is just—I don’t know—but the blacksuits haven’t told me anything.” He pauses, looking out at the quiet yard. I follow his line of sight to see a small gathering of soldiers down below. “Maybe I was wrong about them, their loyalty.”

That’s enough of that.

I slink into the cell, reaching out to Connor. The rigid set of his shoulders loosens, and he leans into the hand I rest on the small of his back. He exhales slowly, releasing his tension in a shuddering sigh.

“Connor?”

I glance over my shoulder to see Dominic watching Connor, his brow creased. Connor looks back, too, much less annoyed than I am to have him here.

“It’s them. They’re okay.”

His words of reassurance could be directed at either of them, though Dominic does seem to relax further. He sinks deeper into his thin mattress, turning his eyes away from Connor. He gives a soft acknowledgement, but seems to ignore us otherwise.

I do the same, not wanting to dwell on him more than I must. I turn back to Connor, trailing a finger over a bruise forming on his jaw. That’s my fault. I try to ignore it.

“Did you miss me?” I tease, instead.

His answering grin is marred by another puff of breath leaving him, this time tied with the essence of regret. When he speaks, they are words that only I can hear, shared through our mutual connection.

“You _are_ okay, right? It was taking awhile, and I wasn’t sure—”

“You know better,” I interrupt, weaving around him. “I’m always fine, remember? I got distracted by a conversation with Cross.”

His brow furrows. “What did he say?”

“He was friendly—as friendly as he _can_ be, I guess.” I pause, considering my words carefully. “He told me that I could switch sides.”

“What?”

“I know. He threw me in here to think things over.”

He sinks onto the bottom bunk, an audible hum emitting from his mind—better than the sparking barrier from before, at least. I cup his cheek, and he looks up. I know he can’t see me, but the concern crackling between his skin and my fingers lets me know that he feels me here.

“Hey,” I murmur, pressing my lips against his forehead, mirroring his go-to method of chasing my worries away. “Everything will be fine.”

“Something feels different this time.” He looks back out to the yard, and I follow his gaze, dropping my hand. Everything looks normal to me. “I can’t put my finger on it, but something’s wrong.”

I can’t argue with that. I tell him about the blacksuit’s warning. “It’s just a rumor right now, but…”

He nods, flinty determination echoing hollowly from his thoughts to mine. I don’t know what he could possibly be thinking beyond that, with his teeth worrying at the corner of his lip and his eyes focused once again at the dusty yard.

We sit in silence, and I relax as the cold waves pouring from my friend gradually ease until I can’t feel his thoughts anymore. I brush a hand through his hair, sad to see those sandy curls dull and limp from so long in the prison.

He turns to me, his eyes focused somewhere to my right. “You have a plan, right? For when we get out of here?”

I nod, though I know he can’t see it. I don’t know how much I should tell him, if I want this to go right. I have to hide so much from the others for this to work.

I remember what I told Cross, that I would never stand with him again. I’ll be lying to everyone so much if I go through with this, and Connor deserves better than that. He deserves to know, in case something goes wrong.

More importantly, in case it goes right.

“Of course,” I answer, finally. “But first, we need to get you out of the prison. I won’t be going with you.”

He isn’t happy about my plan, as I tell him more about it, but he eventually agrees that it’s the best chance we’ve got. I’m glad, because it looks more and more like I won’t have much choice about destroying Cross fully at the end of this.

I should have realized a long time ago that this isn’t a game anymore.

~-S-~

All too soon, I know that I have to go. I can’t stay away from my body for too long, not with the dangers of solitary hanging as a threat, and I still want to have a listen around the prison.

I’m not surprised, upon hearing the complaints, at what I hear.

Of course, Cross had to make them hate me more than they already do. I need to figure out how to deal with that. Kevin—if he’ll even help anymore—can only do so much against a mob of angry kids

And these kids are more than just _angry_.

To them, I’m just another piece of the machine that sent them down here for a lifetime. There’s no way to explain to them that I’m not Jessica Furnace, that I want to tear down Cross just like them, or that I’m trying to get them out of here. They wouldn’t believe me anyway, if I told them the truth. Even if they were real people, they would want a scapegoat.

With no further business in the yard, I open my eyes to snap back into solitary. The darkness hits me like a punch, the negative of the brightly lit yard flashing when I blink. I rub my eyes and stretch. Everything is sore, between work this morning and the fight, exhaustion seeps its way into my bones. I might have healed my injuries, but the strain on my mind and body are finally catching up to me.

I should try to stay awake as long as I can, though, even if the thought of being here sends my heart racing again. If I wait, maybe I won’t even notice two days passing. Wishful thinking, of course. Though it feels like hours, as Connor said, I doubt I’ve been here for more than one. Time stands still around here.

I’m still processing my options when the first tendrils of thick darkness begin creeping from the edges of my vision. Irritably, hoping to postpone the fear that comes with the hallucinations in the hole, I swat through the things to disperse them. More appear, and I feel as though I’m being watched.

“It’s not real,” I mutter. “Super fake. Not real.”

I continue the short phrase under my breath, still trying to come to a decision. The darkness weaves around me until it pushes at my mouth and nose, threatening to suffocate me. My mantra never wavers, though the sense of claustrophobia diminishes my resolve.

_It’s not real._

A laugh that I can’t really hear sounds through the cell, then, _“Are you sure?”_

I don’t hear it, not really, but my mouth goes dry at the words. I turn to be faced with an echo of an old memory. I know that it’s not the real thing, not even in this world made up of dreams and make believe, but it hits me just as violently.

_It’s. Not Real._

I don’t realize that I’m backing away until I’m stopped by the wall.

The figure approaches, emitting harsh light that keeps it in sharp relief, and I slide down the barrier. The way it moves, too long arms jutting out from a twisted body, sends my heart into my throat.

I bury my head in my arms, pulling myself into a tight ball against the wall. My lips form the familiar words, but my voice can no longer support them.

_I promise, it’s not real._

With my eyes screwed shut, I cower from what stands before me. Its coal eyes, the thick ichor spilling from its childish smile. Even thinking of the shade that has joined me in the cell sends a sob racking my body. A mile under the Earth, far from any help, I hide desperately from a mere shadow of what I once allowed myself to become.

_None of this is real._

~-S-~

I don’t know when I fell asleep, or how long I’ve been out. My dreams have been scattered and abstract, but the taste of death lingers in my mouth. When I wake fully, I don’t dare open my eyes or move. I force myself to swallow the panic upon remembering the events leading to my nap.

I can’t afford to make a sound.

The thundering of heavy feet and distant gunshots tell me the children Cross named rats have attacked the compound. The slightest movement could alert them to my presence; I silently pray that they haven’t noticed me already. They would tear me apart as I am now.

I take a shaky breath and try to calm down. I need to find peace or I’ll really be trapped.

I think of home, knowing that I want to be proud of myself when I finally return there. My family, not even aware that part of me is hidden in the recesses of my mind. They must see me every day, not realizing how much I miss them. The thought tears at my heartstrings, so I try a different tact.

Gentle breaths, shallow but content. The form of a young cat curled in a ball replaces that of my sister. Dipper’s purr is strong, and the white designs curling through his gray fur has me smiling. Even from so far away, I can nearly feel the soft comfort of his presence.

Holding onto the feeling, I separate my mind from my body and allow the thought of my little boy to fade away. Hesitantly, I peer out of the cell. I squint in the light, but the corridor is empty for now. There’s no immediate danger.

It’s another ally to visit, long overdue, that has me traveling through the tunnels. I wind my way down the passageway, stopping only briefly outside of Cross’s quarters to find it vacant. I share a brief smile with the void before moving on.

I hope the rats get him.

I fly along the corridor, finding the broken door beyond which the tunnels of unmapped caves lay. A bright, open cavern lit by halogen lamps shows the cracks in the wall in sharp relief. One of these cracks is deeper than it seems, and I pass through it. Up a hill and deeper into the darkness and the caves, I try to remain calm. If I don’t, I’ll end up back in the hole with nothing to show for my excursion.

A flicker of light in a lonely tunnel is my only warning that I’ve found Simon and his friends. I stop outside the scope of the light, watching the group.

Simon carries the silver eyes of the blacksuits, showing his unfortunate history in the infirmary. His legs, his body, and one of his arms bulge from his surgeries, the scars barely hidden by the shredded overalls he wears.

The last time I saw him, Jay had finished the last procedure to return his limbs to as near their original size as possible. He was healing, and he chose to come back to this. What could Connor have possibly said to convince him to return here? Even with the comfort of knowing he can return to his own life in the Cube afterward, why would he come back?

The other two, Ozzie and Pete, gather on the opposite side of the dim flashlight. Ozzie, a skinny kid that might as well have come straight from gen-pop, stares at the light as if in a trance. Pete, on the other hand, carries the weight of a bloated, scarred torso while his limbs remain that of a child.

My form wavers, the thought of Cross tearing my old friends apart nearly sending me back to the hole. Instead, I drift to Simon’s side and murmur in his ear.

“Simon.”

He jumps violently, sweeping the darkness with his needle-eyes as he stands. The others ask him what happened, but he doesn’t answer. I hum, trying to calm him. His eyes fall on the space in which I hide, still panicked.

“It’s me.”

At that, he pauses. He turns back to the other boys, kneeling back down to their level. He tells them to wait, that he’ll come back soon. The moment he turns around to face me in the darkness, a weak smile greets me.

“You okay?” He whispers as we pass further out of earshot. I follow him into the gloom.

“Yeah, fine. I’m stuck in solitary and thought I would check in with you.” He gives my general direction a sharp look, missing by a few meters.

“You should be careful.”

“It’s two nights for a fight I wasn’t even in.” I pause, a scream cutting the air near my cell. “I don’t want to listen to them tear each other apart.”

“What, the rats? I’m surprised you care,” he says, though his conviction is weaker than I would have thought.

I remain silent, mulling over my answer. We reach The Steeple before I come up with anything. The rock goes up into infinity, and I focus on that endlessness when I speak.

“They’re all my children, after everything I’ve been through with them. The rats don’t know any better.” I sigh, looking back at him. “I’m a worse bleeding heart than ever, worrying about NPCs.”

“Maybe it’s better for them to die.” His voice echoes in the cavern, reaching up to the unseen ceiling. “You know better than me what a rat lives with.”

I nod, thinking of the apparition from my cell. I’ve almost crossed that line more than once. I look to him, only knowing where he is from the shine of his eyes. I nearly ask him, finally, why he came back, but the sound of screeching metal from my cell distracts me.

“Shit, I have to go.”

I don’t have time to explain, returning with a blink to my cell. I scramble to my feet, not sure how well I can defend myself against a rat. No nectar, already weak, I brace myself against the light of the opening hatch.


	6. Family Matters

“What a sight you are.” Cross’s voice, thin and harried, falls into the cell as his figure comes into focus. “It hasn’t even been a day.”

It’s not a rat.

This is worse.

I try to hide how unsteady I am, wrinkling my nose at him. I can’t find the words to go with the disdain, though, leaving me silent in a hole in the ground.

He turns away and gestures irritably at me before walking out of sight. A blacksuit, taking his place above me, reaches in. I grasp his hand. I know that this is a peace offering from the soldier to me.

Otherwise he’d have dragged me out by my throat.

Back on solid ground, my legs groan at the sudden expectation of use. So focused on staying upright, I hardly notice when the suit starts forward with a tight grip on my upper arm.

I look up from my tingling feet just in time to see the warden push past the plastic flaps into the infirmary. I falter, my knees deciding they would rather not. My escort doesn’t stop, though, and pulls me along with a tighter grip. I manage to regain my balance as we pass through the flaps.

Hospital beds line both sides of the long room. These cots, hidden by stained curtains, contain the future of Furnace. New specimens, on their way to becoming good little soldiers. From behind the curtains, the occasional shriek of laughter jumps out at us, and I do my best not to flinch when this happens.

The blacksuit speeds up and makes a beeline for the exit on the opposite side of the room. The three wheezers inside watch us as we cross the room. I try not to look at them. I go so far as to hold my breath until we exit on the other end of the cots.

I don’t look into the surgery amphitheaters lining the long hallways beyond, focusing instead on the doors to the incinerator straight ahead. We turn right at the three-way junction and shortly arrive at a familiar door.

Cross faces me for the first time since we started walking, but he doesn’t look at me. Instead, he addresses the soldier at my side.

“Go. Finish your patrol,” he says crisply.

The blacksuit nods and turns back the way we came. I catch him shoot me a wink behind Cross’s back. I grimace and rub my arm where I was held to return blood flow to my tingling fingers.

Cross says nothing more, no hint as to our destination. He unlocks the door and pushes through. Though he doesn’t check to make sure I follow, I stay close behind him.

I wouldn’t need to hear the eerie music in the room to know where we are.

The wheezers, those not hard at work in the rooms we’ve passed, loiter in their cells. Ghostly wailing from the ancient gramophone in the center of the room sends a shiver down my spine, and I can’t help but look at the withered doctors.

Cross hisses a warning at me, but I ignore him. The wheezers see me as nothing more than an inmate now, but they all remain in their cells. They would work on the warden if they got the chance, and would even sooner have me under the knife.

Neither of us slow until the door closes behind us on the other side.

“Where are we going?” I ask, stopping.

Nothing back here is friendly to a being without nectar. That could very well be his intention, though I _doubt_ he wants to kill me so soon.

That could just be wishful thinking.

He doesn’t seem to notice that he’s left me behind until he nearly turns a corner without me.

He snarls, though the sound cuts off in an instant. In an astounding show of patience, he stops and pinpoints me with a glare I can only describe as withering.

“We have business to discuss, yes?” he snaps, his grimace briefly flipping into an ambiguous smile.

My unease grows with his phrasing, but I follow without another word.

I try to remember the map of the compound, something I’ve worked hard to forget. What lies beyond the wheezer’s cells? There are testing chambers here, and the zoo, but I can’t place anything else in the complex warren of halls.

We turn another corner and I see the last doorway in the corridor. It’s another shock-door like the one in the yard. It swings open before we reach it, and I recognize the room beyond at a glance.

It’s the lab.

I don’t know why he would bring me here, but I already know that nothing he has to say will be worth the trouble. He’s too far gone, and I know better than to believe his lies.

I pause just inside, jumping when the door closes again. Throughout the room are evenly spaced metal tables cluttered with papers and various devices. The whole space is about the size of a small warehouse. Doors line the four walls, and I imagine they lead to other rooms like this, practical testing labs, and storage closets.

There’s a perfect replica of this complex in the Cube, where Jay now lives. It was on Furnace’s island the last time I saw the real thing, replacing the hackneyed laboratories the island used to have.

After I finally killed Alfred Furnace permanently, Connor, Jay, and I created a new blend of nectar here. Or, the place this would have been modeled after. It feels like an eternity ago by Cube standards, though it hasn’t even been a year.

Cross strides through the lab, to a desk I remember Jay practically living at. They have the original in their lab, I think, as a reminder. More memories, more regret. I don’t know what Cross is playing at, and the uncertainty has me on edge.

“Come here,” Cross says, pulling a drawer open.

I comply, though I come to a stop a good distance behind him, next to one of the tables. I scan the papers littering the surface, waiting for him to cut to the chase.

> **Specimen M017**
> 
> **D1-03-08-2016**
> 
>   * **Steady feed of N3.22, strength increase, no memory change. Little to be done in this state, no potential at this stage. Observe 24h, move to stage two.**
>   * **Broke free of restraints 3h after start of test, muscle improvement rate higher than anticipated. Quickly returned to gurney under instruction of 82**
>   * **Sedate after Z102 grew weary of his struggle**
> 

> 
> **D2-04-08-2016**
> 
>   * **30cc N4.14 every 6h accompanied by time in screening room. Test each hour for**
> 

> 
>  

Another, blank, paper covers the rest. N3.22 is my nectar—it’s startling enough to know Cross is using it—but what’s N4.14? I nearly reach out to shift the paper but think better of it. Cross is right here, and I still wouldn’t put it past him to kill me if I take a wrong step.

Cross turns to face me just as I’m looking back to him. He offers me a golden tube, his too-wide grin locking the air in my throat when I snatch it out of his hand.

He brushes past me while I examine the familiar object.

It’s about the size of a PEZ dispenser, the edges smooth and rounded. My own reflection in the metal startles me, a grimy kid with hollow eyes. It hasn’t even been _two days_. I run a finger over a divot near one end, then dig a nail under it to pop the cylinder open.

“Where did you get this?”

I don’t turn to look at him when I ask, allowing the dark tablets to roll into my palm. The colored flecks within them wink at me in the fluorescent light. I’ve seen these before, a gift from Connor in my last run.

It’s nectar. Condensed into a solid pill, each tablet contains enough of the ancient evil to change a person forever.

Well. Forever with a few exceptions.

Looking at them awakes a longing in the back of my mind that turns my stomach. They’re right there, and it would be _so easy_ to use them. I could end this right now, couldn’t I?

Lightheaded, I roll the multi-hued pills back where they belong and close it.

The golden tube clenched in my fist, I turn back to face Cross. He watches me intently, eyes narrowed. He’s out of his goddamn mind, handing this kind of power right to me.

I ask him again, where he got it.

“You have a habit of leaving things lying around.” My grip on the container tightens. “You may choose at anytime to return where you belong.”

~-S-~

I lay in darkness, curled in a ball on the cool stone. The golden container rests in the palm of my hand. I thought about leaving it in the lab, but there wouldn’t have been a point. Now I won’t be helpless if I’m attacked.

“ _Helpless?_ ”

I curl in tighter, tired of the cold echoes of the hallucinations. Between the nectar and the dark, I’m not surprised I’m hearing things.

“ _Didn’t you ask for this?_ ”

I close my eyes, though that does nothing. The silent voice sighs. The edges of the figure grow sharper and they move into my line of sight.

It’s Jay. They aren’t really here, I know that, but they still pinpoint me with narrowed eyes, their arms crossed. I don’t think they’ve actually worn that lab coat since I was _really_ fifteen, but if that’s the way my mind decided to conjure them up I don’t have much room to argue.

“ _Look, I don’t want to be here, either._ You _called up the universe and_ you _walked through the door._ ”

“I know.” My voice, barely a breath, doesn’t seem to reach them.

“ _A_ _nd now it’s not just you suffering, is it? You could have struggled alone, or found Cross in the Cube, but no._ ” They shake their head with a pained sigh. “ _You told Connor it would be_ fun _, got him to convince the others—your friends—to let go of the peace they found. You brought everyone back._ ”

“I know.” I say it louder this time

“ _But that was never it, was it? You never came here to have fun. This isn’t a celebration, and deep down you didn’t expect it to be._ ” They pace back out of view. “ _This is about Cross, right? He likely wouldn’t have shown his face again for_ months _. You just couldn’t leave well enough alone._ ”

“I know!” I shriek, the sound tearing at my throat and deadened by the cell. I find myself sitting upright, but when I turn to confront the spectre it’s gone.

I deserve that.

I lean back against the side of the cell, sliding back to the floor. I stare into the darkness, fingers in my hair. I don’t know how long I’ve been down here, and by now I can’t concentrate enough to leave.

With a sigh, I drop my hands to my sides, knocking the pill capsule into the wall. I pick it up and turn it over. I might not want to lose this.

Knowing that I have nectar so easily accessible makes me uneasy. Before I can think about it too hard, I press it against my right arm, mirroring the placement of my key on the left.

It takes a few minutes to force my frazzled mind to make the right connections, but I conceal it under the skin. I flex my arm a few times to make sure it isn’t in the way of anything and find no problems.

I slide further down, laying on my back. For once, my fatigue catches up with me and allows me to sleep in no time at all.

♥♥♥ **C** ♥♥♥

In the day they’ve been gone, I haven’t heard more from Sawyer. There have been flashes, fear and regret, and a fading image of Jay, but nothing of substance. I’d like to think I would know if they were in trouble.

Then again, I thought they knew better than to sacrifice themself.

I sigh and drop another handful of what passes for food here through the grinder. I feel Dominic watching me, but I don’t look up. Instead, I lift a foul glob of mystery meat from the crate beside me and deposit it into the processor.

“They’ll be fine.”

I glance over at Donovan, who also has his eyes on me.

The stained nozzle in his hand sends the mess out the other end of the grinder into an oversized pot. He’s hardly paying attention to it. He doesn’t need to, after so much time spent here.

I clench a fist, wincing at the squelch of a soft tomato in my hand. I drop it in the grinder, scowling.

“They shouldn’t be down there. That’s my fault,” I mutter and wipe my hand on my front. “Your turn, Nick.”

Dominic kicks at my leg as he takes my place at the sink, grumbling. I flash a smile in response to his hostile glare, which wilts after a moment. Little victories.

Donovan chuckles, flicking a bit of raw slop my way. I swat the air negligently, redirecting the attack back into the pot with a point of energy.

“No fair!” Donovan grins, but he doesn’t attempt it again. After a moment, he looks back to the pot and his smile fades. “He’d’ve dragged them down eventually. Kevin had it comin’, anyway.”

I nod, averting my eyes.

Hm.

 _“You’re out of control. We can’t do any of this without_ them _, so you’d better think carefully before you try to pull shit like that again!”_

_“Whatchu gonna do about it, Sawyer?”_

_I took the bait without thinking._

_“If it’s a fight you want, I promise you won’t win this one,” I hissed, fists clenched at my sides. He still didn’t back down, so I took it a step further. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep this plan on track. You’re making yourself a real nuisance, Kevin.”_

_He took a fraction of a step back, and I was ready to call it a win. Looking at the boy’s bloody lip, I wished Sawyer had decided to knock him down a peg after all._

_At the thought of them, a wire seemed to arc between us._

> **… an absolute prick.**

_I turned to them, about to agree, but their face stopped me in my tracks._

_Evident tracks of tears cut through the dirt and blood on their cheeks. Anguish, regret, and hurt rode the wire on the tail of the thought before the connection shattered again. Their eyes, shining in the low light with unshed tears, weren’t on Kevin._

_This is my fault._

The next thing I remember is the siren and a pounding in my head. From what I’ve seen, Kevin came off worse in the fight. He got what he wanted, though, riling me up like that. I shake my head to shoo the memory away.

I covertly check the other two, and neither of them seem to have noticed my absent behavior. At the very least, they don’t acknowledge it. Dominic is almost out of crap to shove in the grinder, though, so I cross the kitchen to kneel next to the remaining crates.

My temper, it seems, is another new thing I’ll need to get used to.

We shouldn’t even be here. I made some promises I’m not sure if I’ll be able to keep, and I’ll have to face up to that when it’s over. We followed them into hell again. If I’d said no, where would we be? Would they have come alone?

I kick the crate a little harder than necessary, knocking it against the counter and making Dominic jump.

“Christ, Connor. Chill out, alright?”

I shrug and lean against the counter.

“After this one, we should grab some gloves. We don’t have much time left.”

♥♥♥ **C** ♥♥♥

I drop onto my bunk, muscles aching. They had me chipping today, the manual labor made worse by my poor sleep. Dominic climbs up into his own bed, groaning.

“I dunno how much more of this I can take.”

He’s just being dramatic, so I don’t answer. I stretch and lay back, ready to do absolutely nothing until Sawyer comes back through the door. If I’m going to rest, though, I might as well make use of it.

I let my eyes close and roll out of bed without the baggage of my body.

I look back at the bed and grimace at the bruise poking out from under my hairline. Maybe we should set some boundaries for friendly fire from now on. Might keep me from killing Kevin, at least.

I turn away and take the time to go the long way.

Down the stairs, lending any blacksuits I pass some energy to get through their shift, I float. The sound of the world around me echoes and warps, not quite reaching this step out of reality. I rarely give myself the chance to feel the edge of the In-Between like this, normally too focused when I step into it.

In the yard, I pause at the bottom of the stairs to survey the yard.

The only one of our group out here is Kevin. He’s too busy cheating at cards to make too much trouble while I’m gone.

Turning away, I walk through the shock doors leading to the compound. The second door, at the end of a short corridor spits me out in a small control room. If Sawyer wasn’t so set on doing this the right way, the escape would be so much easier.

We could break the defenses from here, we could be _out_ by now.

I pause at a bank of monitors, resting a hand on the shoulder of the blacksuit drowsing at his post. A single jolt of energy has him bolt upright. These guys really need to start getting some rest.

I pat his shoulder, smiling when he turns to see no one here.

In an instant I stand in a room nearly a half mile under the main prison. I walk along the empty corridor, musing.

The blacksuits, too, have a life back home. I asked them, and most of them didn’t seem to like the idea of coming back... Then Kane, a friend in the Scouts, talked to them and they were all for it.

I doubt that would have been necessary, in the end. The ones that I brought, at least, would follow Sawyer into hell. It makes things easier, though. I wonder what he said to them.

I stop at the hatches leading to solitary confinement.

Six of them, fitted into the stone of the floor, and only one remains occupied. The tense energy beneath my feet is strong enough to tell me which cell Sawyer’s in, and I drop down to check on them.

It’s dark, so dark I’m surprised they had the strength to come see me at all. I kneel down and grope out until my fingers touch their skin.

In a gentle sigh, a soft glow spreads from the contact on their arm until I can see their sleeping face. They don’t wake up, only shifting under my hand.

The tracks of more tears lay under their eyes, a divot remaining between their brows even in sleep. They curl tighter, like a pill bug, and I smile.

“You’re sleeping better here than I am these days,” I tease, voice low. “That’s new.”

I reach out to brush the hair from their face. The tension in their body eases, their brow smooths. I smile, taking in their light, and stand. The light slowly drains from them until I hover in darkness once again.

“I’m sorry I let this happen,” I say, then climb back out of the cell.

“... recognize him from the outside. This should be interesting.”

I catch sight of Warden Cross just before he walks right through me. He stops dead, and I turn to watch him peer over his shoulder to look directly at me. He stares long enough for me to snap out of it and start edging around him.

“Sir?”

He turns back to the blacksuit at his side, then resumes his track down the hall. “Yes, this new inmate will certainly make some waves.”

New inmate? I stare after him, and he takes the turn leading to the elevator. He’s heading up to greet a new inmate.

This feels wrong.

Something brushes against my face back in my cell, and I snap back to my body with a choked gasp. I sit up, and a piece of paper drifts into my lap.

 _What_.

I haven’t seen paper, real paper, in years. Tentatively, I lift it.

It’s a normal 8x11 sheet of paper. The thought of Sawyer and all of their notes scattered throughout the Room tugs at the corners of my lips. It’s warm, as if it just came off a printer. At first, when I turn it over, I think it’s blank, but then I catch sight of a note scribbled near the bottom.

 _Connor_  
_I tried to stop it. Sorry. Get rid of it before you get to the compound, yeah?_

I swing out of bed and let the note fall to the ground. Dominic calls out to me, but I’m already on my way out. The air rushes from my lungs when I hit the rail outside. I watch the line of the elevator, not looking away when Dominic joins me.

“What is it?” he asks, but I wave him away. The sound of the elevator drumming down its shaft keeps him from trying again.

Chatter from the yard dies down, then a single shout of glee comes from Kevin. Him and his cronies leap from their seats, while some others drift to the circle in the center of the yard or to their own cells. After a long grumble from behind the screen hanging above the doors, the elevator settles and slides open. A single boy walks out, and it takes me a minute to recognize him.

A mane of dark hair flies wildly, nearly unrecognizable without the horns that ordinarily sprout from his head. I scowl down at him, and from the entrance of the elevator he turns a placid smile directly on me.

It’s not nearly as unsettling with those human teeth.

I scoff and back away. The Skulls can tear him apart for all I care. He doesn’t belong in this universe. I return to my bed and lift the paper once again.

“Was that—”

“Yeah.” I trace the letters with a finger. “But look—”

He drops onto the bunk next to me, peering at the paper. “From Sawyer?”

“I don’t know.” I stare at the word ‘sorry.’ I can’t identify the handwriting. “I don’t think so.”

“Maybe they’ll know, then.”

Oh, god, no. I shake my head. The last thing we need is another complication in this plan of theirs. “No, you can’t tell them about this. Keep it between us, alright?”

His brows furrow, and he looks up from the note to regard me. He doesn’t answer at first, eyes flicking back down to the paper. The siren wails from below. Cross is coming up to welcome the new arrival.

Dominic hands the paper back and stands to go peer through the bars at the freakshow below. He’s been here for nearly six months, and I can see the strain it’s putting on him.

At least he can leave the cell here. Sawyer’s decision to go against the rest of the Collective keeps him free in the Cube, out of the cell blocks where he wouldn’t have that luxury. I doubt he wants to threaten that with a secret, even if his only crime is being related to a monster. While I know they wouldn’t throw him back there for this, I can respect that.

I fold the note and slip it beneath my pillow under the shriek of a second siren and the pneumatic sigh of opening doors.

“Fine.”

I look up, surprised to find Dominic watching me. A hardness dwells in his pale eyes that I haven’t seen in years. All trace of his timid facade has vanished, replaced by a stance akin to that of his father. That memory will follow him around forever, it’s no wonder he tries to hide it.

I nod, and he turns back to watch the prison.

I watch as, before my eyes, his shoulders droop and he falls back into the frightened persona he’s held since he returned to the Cube. I’ve underestimated him. There’s more there than he wants anyone to see, and I wonder how much else he’s hiding.

~-S-~

Warmth fills the room, blotting out something bad. I can’t put my finger on what it was, the horrible thing hidden by the warm light. It’s the sun on my cheeks, a gentle breeze following it.

I sigh, content.

There’s a sound, rough and out of place, and I tilt my head in response.

The illusion shatters when a real light hits my face.

I curl into a nervous, shaking ball. I shout, but even I don’t understand what I’m trying to say. It leaves my throat raw and aching, tearing the last of the calming dream away. Nothing follows the light infiltrating my cell.

Slowly, I unfurl myself into a sitting position and peer at the hole in the ceiling with shaded eyes.

The sun, huh?

My eyes sting, struggling to make out the dark shape above me. They wait patiently, and by the time I reach my hand out to be pulled up by the blacksuit, I can see again. He doesn’t give me a chance to pause or look around before gripping my arm and leading me down the hall. It takes a minute for the hallway to stop spinning, so I’m certain he’s the only thing keeping me upright.

My dry mouth gives away my dehydration, and I nearly laugh aloud. Always forgetting something.

“So, two nights already?” I croak, eyes on the floor. I’m already banged up enough without losing my footing.

“You shouldn’t talk down here,” he says. Short, clipped tones, a vast change from the late-night visit. I keep my mouth shut for the rest of the walk.

We enter the room containing the elevator in no time, and the blacksuit guarding the shaft directs a wave at the two of us. They’re gonna get me killed if the inmates see them treating me like this.

After an awkward wait, the elevator doors open and we board. The instant they close, my mouth opens.

“Are Cross’s tests on the new kids working?”

He doesn’t respond at first. The elevator starts upward, the steady grinding nearly overpowering his words when he speaks.

“I don’t know. He only tells his ‘loyal soldiers’ anything.” His mouth forms a thin line, the usual shark-like grin gone. “Be careful who you trust.”

I nod, and the rest of the ride continues in silence.

It isn’t as long as I remember it being. I almost lose my balance when it stops. When the doors open, I step out without prompting. The suit behind the control panel nods at me and chats with my escort.

I flinch when a siren calls out. I missed the warning from the one behind the desk. I think I recover quickly, striding with my guide into the adjoining space as confidently as possible.

I have to try and seem unshaken, which will be hard to do when I’m seeing spots. I might as well still be in the hole, back with the hallucinations and darkness. The light in a dream that couldn’t have been there, that shouldn’t have been able to break through the blanket of nectar in the air.

None of it makes sense.

The second siren rings, opening the second door to allow me back into general population. The red stone of the yard, the jeering inmates, the stuffy air, the near-blinding lights, all on top of my thirst and sensitive eyes has my head spinning again. I end up stumbling along instead of walking with the blacksuit. When he finally lets me go at the edge of the crowd of inmates within the yellow circle, I feel vulnerable and unsteady.

“Whoa, you ain’t looking too hot.”

The familiar voice hits like a slap to the face.

A hand rests on my shoulder, but I swat it away and stumble away from the source. I bump into someone and look up to see Connor watching the owner of this voice impassively at my side.

He leans down to whisper in my ear.

“Blacksuits brought him in just after work. He’s been quiet, but...” He continues, but I’m not listening.

I have to process. The grinning boy waits for me to recover. His undeniably _human_ skin. His eyes track me as I sway, and I know I can’t deal with this right now.

There’s only one thing I can do.

I collapse to avoid a confrontation with Gamzee Makara, an asshole I’ve been dodging for nearly four years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gamzee is my least favorite character in Homestuck (not from a character creation perspective, just on a person perspective). I had very unhappy daydreams when I was younger, and Gamzee was a _dick._ His appearance here really isn't that relevant for Breaking Furnace, but it does make an impact on A Study in Morals and later Cube Collection series.
> 
> I'm honestly not sure if I'm going to even tag him in the story, because he has one (1) effect on the plot.


	7. Fractured Self-Perception

“For the last time, go get some damn water.”

Connor. His voice is a welcome sound after the fever dreams I’ve risen from.

“Why don’t you get your own water?”

And Kevin arguing just for the sake of it, as always. There’s a short scuffle, then fading steps.

“Who’s this Gamzee guy?” Monty asks.

I tense at the name, the image of the troll-turned-human flashing in my mind’s eye. I haven’t seen him in more than a year, and now he’s showing up _here_?

I inhale slowly, though instead of calming me down this seems to fuel the dry fire in my throat. Two days of hallucinating in the dark without food or water has my head spinning and makes it hard to concentrate. I finally find a good grasp on the conversation again in the middle of Connor’s explanation.

“After that, he kind of went crazy. I’m not sure about all the details, it was before I met them.”

The memories put a sour taste in my mouth. A lighthouse, the foul stench of stagnant seawater, and a glint of a grin in the darkness.

“Anyway, you guys should get out of here,” Connor warns. His voice pulls me back to the present. “It might look suspicious to have the whole group in here.”

There are some murmurs of agreement, and more footsteps filing away. I keep still, wondering if I can get away with sleeping a little longer. The last thing I want to do is move. Connor sits on the side of the bed with a sigh.

There’s a moment of silence, then a small laugh in the outer edges of my thoughts. He’s worming his way back in, I see.

“You’re too stiff.”

I crack an eye open to peer at him. It figures. I lift a hand and reach for him. He catches it with his own, grounding me in the now.

“ _You’re_ too, um,” I pause, searching for a fitting word. “I dunno, too nosy.”

“Nosy? Says the one eavesdropping.” He laughs, a sardonic tilt to his smile. After a moment, his eyes soften. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

“What happened?” I croak. “How long was I out?”

“Just a few minutes. Gamzee showed up not too long before you did. I agreed to let him escape with us, if only to placate him.” He shrugs, sighing, and squeezes my hand. “We’re lucky the suits are on your side, or they probably would have dragged you back downstairs.”

Ah.

Downstairs.

I struggle to sit up, my vision cartwheeling and my empty stomach cramping. My grip on Connor’s hand tightens until I can see straight. He steadies me with his other hand on my shoulder, eyes narrowed as if I might pass out again.

I need to tell him about the nectar.

“Suits won’t let me take water out of the trough room.” Kevin says, strolling into the cell before I can say anything.

Frustration scatters my thoughts. God damn it, this is _important_. It takes a long gap of silence for me to see Connor gazing at me expectantly.

“Might as well get it over with.” I try to keep the bitterness out of my voice, but the way his brows furrow tell me I failed.

He stands and pulls me up with him. I sway a little as I find my footing, my head spinning. I knew I was forgetting something down there, but I never would have guessed it was water. You’d think my hallucination of Jay would have said something, at the very least.

That’s not a reassuring thought to have to have.

“You okay?” Connor’s voice snaps me back, and I nod. He doesn’t press it, letting go of my hand to move on ahead. I want to call him back, but Kevin jumps on his chance to fall into step beside me.

I don’t acknowledge him when he slings his arm around my waist, too focused on Connor’s back. I don’t trust myself to walk all the way there on my own, but Kevin is hardly on the top of my list of friends right now.

I have more important things to worry about, though.

When we reach the trough room, Connor waits with two cups of water. I snatch one out of his hand and down it. The lukewarm water glides like an alpine spring down my throat, easing a fraction of the scratching. He switches the cup with the full one and turns back into the room.

I sweep my gaze around the room after I empty the second cup.

I catch sight of Gamzee watching me from a distant table. I watch him back for a moment, then pointedly turn my back on him and nudge Kevin into following Connor. If it weren’t for his arm around me, I would have to actually pay attention to where I’m walking. As it is, I close my eyes to keep an eye on Gamzee with my awareness instead.

He has that same neutral smile he wore in the yard. His eyes track me around the room for a few seconds, then he continues eating. What is he doing here? He shouldn’t have even known we were coming. The thought turns my stomach and I open my eyes to put it out of my mind.

“Don’t let it bother you,” Connor says, gently pulling the cup I’d been trying to crush out of my hands and replacing it with a full one. “Now slow down before you make yourself sick.”

I stick my tongue out at him, but follow his advice. Between small sips, I ask about the past two days.

“How mad are the other inmates?”

“Worked from breakfast ‘til dinner both days,” Kevin grunts. “There’ll be a real riot after another day like this.”

“I doubt he’d risk that.”

“If you say so,” he says. He drops his seriousness and whispers in my ear, “Why don’t we make a wager on it?”

Connor poorly disguises a jerk of his head by coughing into his hand. I purse my lips, and Kevin laughs.

Real funny.

I take another, longer drink, surveying the hall. Several faces turn away from me, but most of the inmates looking up don’t bother to hide their hostile glares. That’s not good.

“We have to deal with my reputation somehow, or we’ll be going home a lot sooner than planned.”

♥♥♥ **c** ♥♥♥

“Still no ideas?”

I jump and crumple the already well-worn note in my fist. Dominic stands at the entrance to the cell, watching me with a steely glint in his eyes. Once again, the ghost of his father leaves a clinging trace of fear in the back of my mind.

I deflate into my mattress. “No, nothing.”

He nods, but doesn’t enter the cell. I’m seeing more and more of this side of him since Sawyer arrived.

“Could it be from the outside?”

“I _guess_ , but hell if I know who wrote it.”

He nods again, looking out at the prison. We sit in the relative silence, and I smooth the note back out. The handwriting is unfamiliar. Whoever it’s from is willing to use my first name, which rules out half of Sawyer’s various selves. Most of them hate me these days.

And I don’t _recognize the handwriting._

“What’ll you do about _him,_ then?”

I fold the paper and hide it again with a shrug. It’s a good question, assuming ‘it’ even refers to Gamzee. I look up, Dominic’s icy gaze enough to put me on edge.

“We’ll figure something out. Accidents happen around here all the time.”

His brow quirks, and in an instant he’s back to his usual self. He grins, now boyish rather than cold. “You’ve been hanging around Kevin too much.”

I snort. “Hanging with _you_ too much, more like.”

He winces and shrugs, finally entering the cell and vaulting into his own bunk. At least he’s aware of the Jekyll and Hyde act he’s pulling.

“Why pretend to be something you’re not?”

“Is that even a question?” His voice is soft, nearly lost under the crowds downstairs. He does nothing more to explain, so I lay back in my bed and think on it.

We all have faces we wear, and Dominic has a lot to prove to Sawyer. Acting like a simpering coward won’t get him any brownie points, though. He’s been useful and cunning in those moments he drops the facade.

I close my eyes and Sawyer’s face flashes behind my eyelids. First their anger the day I returned, their excitement at their accomplishments back home. Then the tear-stricken wariness in their cell. Maybe I understand him more than I think.

“You don’t know what it was like when you were gone, do you?”

I stay silent. I’ve heard this lecture a million times from different versions of Sawyer. Jay, The Vampire, even the goddamn Addict berated me for leaving. The last person I would expect to hear it from is Dominic.

“They were so scared.” This is a perspective I haven’t heard before. “They started to run things without your help—not that your help was healthy from what I’ve heard, but I’m the pot and you’re the kettle so whatever.” He sighs, and his bed creaks. “I showed up in the thick of it, and you know how that went.

“And that’s fair, you know, they wanted to forget me and my dad and the same day they find _you_ they get slapped by me being there. I get that.”

“Why _did_ you come back?” I interrupt. I know next to nothing about him, just that his dad ran the cartel Sawyer has history with. I should take whatever I can get while he feels like talking. “And where did you come from?”

Dominic’s head pokes over the edge of his bed. “Jay didn’t tell you?”

“No, I—” I avert my eyes, rolling over to face the wall. “They don’t have a lot to say to me anymore.”

“Well, I’d been under my dad’s thumb until Jarie tore the last of his cartel apart. I slipped out in the chaos. Came barreling through a door into Furnace—you know how the damn doors can be. I didn’t expect to find you there, and I definitely didn’t expect Sawyer.”

“Oh.” I can’t help but laugh. “I thought you rigged it, all this time.”

“So does the Collective, I think.” He pauses, and I listen to him settle back down in his bed. “I know they might never forgive me, but they confided in me while you were gone. They invited me here to have their back. If they finally aren’t scared of me, and if acting the way I do keeps it that way, it’s worth it.”

I stare at the rough stone of the wall, not sure if I should believe him. Could that really be all he’s hiding? That he doesn’t want them to be scared? I pull my knees closer to my chest and slide a hand under my pillow to clutch the mysterious paper.

In the end, I suppose we’re all the same.

~-S-~

I burst out of sleep, gasping in the heavy air.

The prison swims in my vision momentarily, mixed with a young boy in a gas mask. The sensation of hands on my arms lingers, sending a shiver up my spine. Based on the cries in the darkness beyond my cell, I’d say I’m not the only one suffering tonight.

Still shaking, I slide out of bed. I need a minute before I can even think about going back to sleep.

I take a seat on the floor of the cell and look out into the yard. It’s dark, the only light from the screen above the elevator doors and the glinting eyes of the blacksuits as they prowl the prison.

I watch them meander around the yard and creep up the stairs. I can’t see their bulk in the low light, just pairs of silver pennies in the air. On the opposite side of the yard, one of them stops. I think, for a second, that there might be trouble. Then his eyes turn to point toward me.

I frown and and look away, at the screen, instead.

The Furnace logo, three circles connected by a triangle, rotates in the center of the screen. It’s a mockery of the DVD screen I grew up falling asleep to, the symbol enough to leave me scowling at the darkness in my cell.

Still, it’s better than the dreams for now. There’s nothing dragging me through the mud or pressing a gun to my head here.

Yet.

I close my eyes with a sigh. I don’t know if I can do this again. Last time, I lost my patience and ended the game far too early. It shouldn’t have worked out, but Furnace hasn’t been more than a placeholder since the fourth door and Cross was dead.

 _Cross_.

He acts like he isn’t sentimental, but he’s just a cowardly little boy hiding behind the ghost of what he used to be. Based on the new and improved visions he sent me in the compound, I’d say he’s been in the memories of the original Alfred Furnace. I know those memories too well not to recognize them.

The scene he projected from the trenches flickers in my head, the ancient shade reaching for me.

“Perry.”

I jolt upright, my eyes flying open. A dark figure on the other side of the bars blocks the dim light of the screen, and my heart stutters in my chest.

Then I see the silver eyes of the blacksuit and wilt back against my bed.

“Jesus.” I press the heels of my hands into my eyes.

He chuckles, a sound reminiscent of rolling thunder. “Not sleeping is a good way to get dead.”

“If anyone sees you talking to me I’ll ‘ _get dead_ ’ before my insomnia can do it.”

His eyes shift, turning until I can only see one of them. “Heard about that from 61. We’ve been throwing ideas around.”

I hesitate.

Most of the blacksuits are on my side these days, but I know some of them are still in league with Cross. I’ve been loose with my trust since I got here, which isn’t exactly smart with the rumors flying around.

Get dead, huh?

Screw it.

“What do you have?”

He leans closer to the cell. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll do most of the work, just be ready for a show.”

He turns to leave, but I can’t help asking, “Why are you helping me?”

He looks back, his eyes crumpling into a smile I can’t see. He laughs, much too loud, and keeps walking. “Talking back, _Furnace_? Could get you killed one day.”

I watch him go, once again left alone in my cell after a discussion with a guard. They’re going to further lengths than I expected, even if they _are_ on my side.

I groan and heave myself to my feet.

If I’m right, I’ll be chipping again today. I’ve been back in gen-pop for nearly a week, and I’m not sure how many more days in a row I can take on top of dealing with Kevin and the other inmates. Not to mention the hovering anxiety about Gamzee and whatever he has planned.

I crawl back into my bunk and curl up under the thin blanket. Maybe I can convince myself, for even a second, that this will be easier with the blacksuits’ help.

~-S-~

“Has he talked to you at all? Done anything?”

“No,” I grunt under the strike of my ax against the wall. “To be honest, I’m over it. Gamzee can do what he wants, it doesn’t change anything.”

He leans closer, his voice low. “What about the blacksuits? It’s a complete turnaround.”

I smile weakly before driving into the wall again, harder this time. “Don’t worry about them.”

He’s right, though.

In the past couple days, the familial attitude of the suits has disappeared. If anything, they’ve started putting more strain on me than the other inmates. I’ve been threatened with the hole three times in as many days.

I doubt it’ll help with the inmates much, but it’s probably better for my health than winks and nods.

“And Kevin?”

I let the head of the pickaxe rest on the ground and lean on it, just to catch my breath. “He’s a brat, but that’s nothing new. I assume you heard the rumor he started? That we were friends before you were whisked away to prison?”

He snorts.

“Really? I doubt Jessica Furnace would have bothered with a street rat like me.”

“She was definitely a piece of work before I took over,” I agree. “A brat in a pencil-skirt, pretending to be all grown up.”

“She’s only two years younger than you, idiot.”

“Yeah, and I’ve never given anyone a reason to think _I_ think I’m an adult,” I point out, and Connor drops his own pick to his side with a laugh.

“Still, it’s a rumor I can get behind.” He leans against his pickaxe, grinning. “Now there’s no reason I shouldn’t talk to you.”

“You weren’t that good at pretending not to know me, anyway.”

Laughter bubbles up from both of us, more genuine than anything I’ve had since entering this universe. The edges of our minds meet to form a smooth line of thought.

> “ ** _I thought you liked my acting._ **”

I lean heavier against my pickaxe, the euphoria of a complete connection enough to sweep me away.

My vision blacks out with a sharp pain in the side of my head. For a few seconds, all I know is darkness and shouts.

I blink and I’m back.

Reds and whites cartwheel in my vision from my new vantage on the floor. My left temple throbs, and I can’t seem to orient myself enough to move. The last traces of the fractured tie between Connor and I sends rage and fear coursing through my veins, though the only thing I know for sure is that I’m still on the ground.

“Who the _fuck_ threw it?” Connor calls, his voice smooth compared to the scale of anger we share. I shift under the mutters sweeping through the chipping room. “I won’t ask again.”

My fingers brush the wooden handle of my pickaxe. Above, Connor regards the other inmates, though I can’t make out anything further than that. I use the pick to drag myself into a sitting position.

“What, worried about your _girlfriend,_ Sawyer?” It’s a voice I don’t recognize coming from a boy I’ve never talked to. The hate in his words twists my heart. “You know who she is, right? Raised by Furnace himself to put us down here.”

“You don’t know _anything,_ ” Connor growls.

I reach out for his pant leg, and my intent seems to reach him even though my hand misses. He looks down, and the roar of emotion coming from him eases with a trickle of relief.

“It doesn’t matter,” I murmur. “Let them think what they want.”

His lips press into a thin line, and he turns back to the other inmates. “You’re really willing to turn the Skulls into your enemy, Reynolds?”

Another wave of mutters sweeps the room, and I shake my head. That’s not going to win him any points. I start to push myself up, one hand on the wall and the other using the pick as leverage.

A low, booming voice nearly knocks me to the floor again.

“What’s going on in here?”

I don’t look at the blacksuit, turning to the wall and urging my head to stop spinning. I can’t risk lifting the pickaxe, not when it’s the only thing keeping me upright. If I fall it’s a one way ticket downstairs. I doubt Cross would let me back up as easily as he did last time.

There’s a long moment of silence before the sound of picks striking the wall starts to return.

In the end, it’s Reynolds that answers the blacksuit.

“Nothin,’ Mr. Guardman. Nothing’s going on.”

I hear the blacksuit’s steps recede, then I sag against the pick, steadying myself with a hand on the wall. The clank of metal against rock all around me pounds in time with the headache sprouting from the side of my head.

I feel Connor’s silent assurances before his fingers brush the epicenter of the pain. I grit my teeth and screw my eyes shut at the touch.

“Yikes.”

_Wow, thanks._

“If you’re trying to be reassuring, you aren’t doing a great job,” I hiss, grip too tight on the ax handle.

“Fair point. Let me know when I get this right, okay?”

I nearly ask what he’s going to do when a cool numbness spreads over the side of my head, the same feeling as a limb having fallen asleep. Well, at least it doesn’t hurt anymore.

I tell him as much.

“Still dizzy?”

I nod.

His fingers tense, and this time sharp needles of thought poke through the side of my skull. I shift uncomfortably, but don’t pull away. The needles push further and my jaw clenches at the unnatural pricking.

“Now?”

He withdraws, and the vertigo goes with him. My legs cease trembling, and when I open my eyes my vision no longer sways. When he lifts his hand from the still-numb side of my head, I stand straight, experimentally lifting the pickaxe into my hands with no ill effects.

“Thanks.”

I look up to him, offering a smile. He returns it, albeit weakly, and lifts his own axe from the floor.

“I’m not sure how long it’ll last, so be careful.” He turns back to the wall and gets back to work. “I’ll see what I can do at lunch.”

I nod and lift my pickaxe to strike the wall.

I try to reach to Connor through the connection we made, but the chasm between us has returned. I could scream and he wouldn’t hear.

Back to square one.

~-S-~

“I don’t think you have a concussion, if that makes you feel any better.”

I grimace and take take another spoonful of slop from my tray. At least we’re out of the chipping rooms. There wasn’t anymore trouble, thank god, but that hardly leaves me breathing easy.

“Christ, what happened?” Donovan slides onto the bench across the table from us. I wince at Connor’s prodding, dropping my spoon onto the tray in from of me.

“It’s not a big deal. I’m fine”

Connor scoffs but he doesn’t argue. He drops down next to me and starts on his lunch. “I healed the skin, but I’m not cocky enough to mess with your brain more than I already have. Here’s hoping you won’t be chipping again anytime soon.”

Donovan flicks his gaze between the two of us. “Heard there was a fight in Room One.”

“Some dipshit threw a rock and ran his mouth,” Connor explains, and I roll my eyes. “He shut up pretty quick when I used the bandana against him.”

While the two of them discuss it further, I look with unseeing eyes to the rest of the trough room. Here’s hoping Connor’s fix didn’t mess anything else up, I guess.

I focus on a flash of silver. A blacksuit watches me from the doorway to the room. At first I think he’s just stationed here as a guard, but he directs a grin directly at me and turns to retreat down the hall.

Yeah, there’s nothing suspicious about _that_ at all.

I stand and move to start for the exit. I only stop because Connor asks where I’m going.  I look back to him. He’s on his feet now, too. After the intensity of our connection earlier, I can’t tell if his furrowed brows offer me concern or disapproval on visuals alone.

“I don’t know,” I admit after a beat. “Stay here, I should be back soon.”

I hold my gaze on him in the hope he’ll see the plea in my eyes, until he nods and lowers himself back onto the bench.

“Alright. Be careful.”

_Be ready for a show._

I don’t answer before I turn my back on them.

As I walk away, Donovan says, “Yeah, see,  _that’s_ your problem.”

Though the urge to go back and leave well enough alone dogs me at every step, I pad past the automated machine guns at the door and through the tunnel to the yard. The smaller space dampens the sound on either side, but even from here I can feel the rising tension waiting for me.

I stop dead when I reach the opening to the main prison.

Three blacksuits push an inmate between them, their booming laughter echoes in the too-quiet yard. I don’t recognize the kid, but everything about his stance screams defiance. The blacksuits don’t normally intervene so directly in the inmates’ lives.

Yet here they are.

“I didn’t mean anything by it!” the boy shouts. “It was a joke.”

_Ah._

It’s Reynolds.

“Sure sounded confident when he said it though, huh boys?” the suit closest to me laughs, shoving the kid again. “Say it again, for everyone to hear.”

He mumbles something, which only earns him a punch to the gut. The suit holds him upright, then repeats the command.

“Furnace. I’m gonna kill her,” he whines when his breath returns.

Okay, so, that’s a thing that’s happening.

I don’t realize I’m moving forward until I bump someone out of my way. I’m aware of heads turning my way, but my eyes stay on the group in the middle of the yard.

“Can’t have that, can we?” says the second suit. “We have no intention of letting our VIP die so soon.”

Dear lord, I’m going to die today.

He nods at the first, who levels his shotgun at the boy. Reynolds stares down the barrel of the gun, and the fight drains out of him. He falls to his knees.

The three suits chuckle in a deep rumble I feel in my teeth. The rest of the yard is silent, many of the other kids making a point to get the hell out of there. I don’t blame them. There’s no way this isn’t going to end messy.

The third suit, the one facing me, grins wider when he catches sight of me. I maintain eye contact with him, though it makes my skin crawl. He makes no move to stop me or alert his companions.

“Any last words, maggot?”

The last thing I see of Reynolds before I shove between him and the gun are his eyes screwing shut. The blacksuits laugh, but the gun doesn’t waver. The suit lifts it until I’m the one staring down the long barrel. A pair of hands clutches my leg, Reynolds presses close to me as if I could actually do anything to help him. I wish I could reassure him, but something sticky and cold has lodged itself in my throat. I couldn’t speak even if I could think of something to say.

I don’t know which suits are on my side.

“Speak of the devil,” the first one purrs. “And the warden thought you’d be less of a thorn in our side down here.”

_What?_

Whether the suits catch my confusion or not, I’m unsure. The one with the gun in my face moves closer, the steel of the barrel brushing my forehead. The feeling scatters my thoughts, it nearly transports me back to the nectar fueled dreams, but this isn’t a dream.

I could be about to die.

“If I had my way, I’d pull this trigger and give this worm his pound of flesh.” The blacksuit’s words pound through my skull, bringing me back to the present, and a wave of nausea sweeps through me. “But we’ve got orders. Warden Cross wants to see the life drain from your eyes himself.”

The suit sweeps his gun down, and the explosion of heat and sound so close to me kills my hold on my balance. My ears ring, and the dip and sway to my vision has returned.

Pressed close to the ground, I feel more than hear three things through the echoes of the blast in my skull.

One: The thunderous laughter of the blacksuits.

Two: The shrieks of the boy beside me.

Three: _The siren._

On instinct, I struggle to my feet. My head spins, but nowhere near to the extent that it did in the chipping room. I try to orient myself, stopping when I catch sight of my cell. In my rush to get to safety, I nearly trip over Reynolds.

He makes no move to stand, too busy with the mangled remains of his left leg. I look around, but even if there was someone in the prison willing to help this poor sap, most of the inmates fled to their cells long before the siren started.

I catch sight of Connor and Donovan as they bolt across the yard with the rest of the inmates from the trough room. Neither of them stop, though Connor’s consciousness flutters briefly against mine. It supplies the hearing the gunshot has replaced with a high ringing, perhaps on accident.

The light prod solidifies what I must do, even if it throws off my depth perception.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, the words sticky in my throat. He looks up, a plea in his glazed eyes. “This is better than the infirmary. I promise.”

The siren cuts out and I know I’m out of time.

I turn and stumble toward my cell. I try to block out the incomprehensible cries from my connection with Connor, but I can’t turn it off. The guy can’t walk on that leg, and I don’t even know if I’ll make it on my own. I wasted too much time.

With the danger of blowback from the backsuits gone, the jeers of the inmates rise in full force. Just another sound to tear at my concentration and destabilize me. The sound all comes from the wrong directions.

I’m just a few feet away when the cells start to close. It starts to my right, next to the elevators, like a set of dominoes. My own cell starts to rattle shut just as I’m passing through. I collapse at the foot of my bed, my tremors now too much to bear.

I stare at the pants of my overalls, stained in Reynolds’s blood, and struggle against my growing nausea.

That’s a problem for any version of me  _other_ than the current one.

I don’t even try to get to the top bunk, crawling onto the bottom and laying on my side. I face the yard and watch Reynolds drag himself toward the stairs. It’s a useless plight, the chorus of cells closing already fading to a mere memory.

The prison holds a collective breath, the silence only broken by the boy’s sobs.

The shock door swings open, and out bounds one of Cross’s massive, skinless dogs. It’s eyes immediately lock on the bleeding inmate, and his shrieks raise in pitch. It bounds forward, and I close my eyes.

Though I can’t bear to watch, I can’t hide from the sickening crunch when his final scream cuts off. Only then does the echo from Connor finally, mercifully, disappear.

~-S-~

I kick my feet, banished to sit on a crate while Connor and Dominic do all the work.

It’s been a few days since the scene in the yard, but Connor seems to think I’ll keel over any second. There’s no point in arguing with him, not when he’s feeling so chatty about the past few years.

“I about killed Gary a few times before landing myself down here,” he says from his perch against the counter. “You owe me, by the way, for making me deal with him for a year.”

“That’s not my fault.” I pull my legs up and cross them. “I don’t control the doors. Three years, though, that’s a _lot_ longer than I expected.”

“Boring as hell is what it was.” He picks at something on the rubber gloves he wears, squinting at them. “The only things breaking it up until you got here were my visits to the hole—not in my top ten vacation destinations.”

“Hey, maybe multitask back there?” Dominic calls from the stove. “We don’t need a day without food on our heads.”

Connor raises his hands in mock surrender and turns back to the sink to continue feeding the contents of the crate to his left into the grinder. His back turned to me, I marvel over how normal this feels already.

I’ve been here for more than two weeks. Since Reynolds’s death, the inmates have stayed out of my business. Whether it was what the suits said or me stepping between him and the gun, I’m still not sure. It doesn’t matter if it means I’ll be left alone.

I flick my gaze to Dominic. I may as well pretend to be friendly.

“What about you, when did the doors spit you out?”

There’s a short silence, and he jerks upright after a moment. He looks back at me, an uncertainty in his eyes that disappears in an instant. He shrugs, turning back to the pots on the stove.

“Just a few months ago. It was bad timing, there was a riot earlier that day.”

“Ah,” Connor chuckles, dumping the last of his crate into the sink. He makes no move to get a new one, leaning back against the counter. “That landed me downstairs.”

Yeah, I’ll need the rest of that story later.

“When my door dumped me into my body, we were in the middle of a lockdown and—” He stops to face both of us. “You were visiting. Furnace, I mean, was here.”

I straighten up, my attention thoroughly piqued. Connor doesn’t seem surprised—I’m sure he’s heard this story before, after all. Dominic hesitates and fidgets under my gaze.

“No one got a clear idea of what was happening, since we were all locked in our cells, but Cross gave her a tour.” He pauses with a nervous sort of laugh. “She didn’t look all that happy. They disappeared into the compound for a few hours after that.

“They let us out for dinner, so I was in the yard when she came back. She looked like crap, pissed as hell, and took the elevator right up.” He shrugs again and turns back to the sink. “It was weird, for sure, but it doesn’t really help anything.”

“Not everything has to help,” I answer.

He tenses but doesn’t respond.

“I, for one, was _pissed_ when I found out I missed her.” Connor pushes off the counter and kneels next to one of the crates beside me. “Though, I did get a bit of info from the suits on the way to the hole.”

“Oh?”

He cuts the straps on the crate, revealing the oozing amalgam of old food we shove into the slop. He pulls a face, dragging it back to the sink. “Cross found out she’d been protecting the kids he was framing and there were three blood watches in the week before her visit.”

“Christ.”

And he let me talk shit about her, the bastard.

“She was really good at covering her tracks,” Connor explains. “But the blacksuits told me she managed to get about 30 kids out of the country last year. I’m surprised Cross didn’t kill her.”

I glower at him, but he laughs and turns back to the sink. I narrow my eyes at his back.

“Are the rumors true then? Did you know her?”

He shakes his head, studying a rotten apple core. “I met her once before I came down here. I didn’t know, then, that she was working against Cross, so it scared the hell out of me when she had me dragged to the tower with an armed escort.”

“Well, it’s good to know she was theatrical, too.”

“Yeah, well, she offered me a way out of the country. Obviously, I refused and ended up down here.”

He shrugs, feeding more moldy gunk into the grinder.

I don’t know what more to say to that. If Jessica Furnace wasn’t as bad as we thought, we might have more leverage with the inmates. It’s likely all moot now, though, since I took her place.

“Hey, Sawyer?”

I perk up and look back to Dominic. He doesn’t look at me, slowly stirring another pot of slop.

“Yeah?”

“Why are we here?”

“I—” My hand goes to my chest, where my key would normally sit. It’s empty, rough fabric where my answers used to be. I drop my gaze to my lap. “I have some questions I need answered.”

“Hm.”

It’s silent, save for the grinder on Connor’s end of the room. I peer at my hands, anything to distract myself, frowning at the red tint from the dust. I try to wipe it off, but it just smears deeper into my skin.

Like a sigh, a hand seems to brush over my thoughts. The touch from Connor pulls back for an instant, then grows until I can practically _feel_ his hug. Warmth and calm settle me down and slowly fade away.

I look up to see Connor’s eyes on me. The corner of his mouth twitches up, the very definition of a ghost of a smile. Then the moment ends, and he returns to piling rotting food into a grinder for us to eat later.

~-S-~

The red light flashes on so suddenly I have to slap a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.

_Blood watch._

The siren blasts for an instant, and the light flickers.

I turn away from the rest of the prison, face to the wall. I curl into a ball and cover my ears against another shriek from the siren. I screw my eyes shut against the swooping reds of the blood light.

Screams and moans rise in a sharp crescendo before cutting off when the steel doors open. I curl tighter, hugging my legs and trying to block it all out. No one can hide from this. If they choose you, that’s it.

It’s too early to be the end for me.

_It’s not real._

If I say it enough, maybe it’ll feel more true. I hear the giant steps of the suits, the shuffling of the wheezers. Even with my hands held tight over my ears, the hoarse shrieks of those shrunken men cut into me. I imagine the smell of death on them, left over from their work in the infirmary.

_It’s not real._

There’s a siren. A scream follows; the first wheezer has chosen its victim. Beyond my eyelids, the lights flicker. Another siren, another scream. A third. I grit my teeth against what I suppose is a prayer, but sounds more like a curse.

_It’s not..._

Two more pairs of shrieks, mechanical and monster, and I breathe easier. They were all too far away to be my cell. I’m safe.

I’m safe.

Panic still wells, unbidden. What if they chose one of my friends? There’s _nothing_ I can do from here, not yet. They’ll be something new and empty by the time I get to them.

Even with that thought, I can’t bring myself to turn around.

_Not real._

Eventually, the lights shut off, the sirens end, and the steel door slams shut with a resounding thud. Five inmates will forget who they are within a week down in the infirmary. I lay shaking in bed, too shaken to move.

After what seems like hours, I drift back into a fitful sleep.

I find, the next morning, that Zee’s cellmate was taken. I’ve only spoken with Carlton once or twice, but the plan was to take him with us. There’s nothing we can do now. He might as well be dead.


	8. Yeah, Well, Plans Change

It’s soothing, sitting in the In-Between. Back in the prison, the lights are out and my body sleeps. It took a year to cheat my dreams into letting me in here, but it’s better than the dreams I would have had in the prison.

I can almost pretend I’m back in the memories—in the Cube proper if I concentrate enough—with the heavy air swirling over my head. If I focus, I can—

The floor around me shimmers and spreads into a matted green carpet. As it moves, dirty blue walls shoot up to box me in the familiar bedroom. A box spring and mattress drop nearby, a mess of blankets settling with a gentle breath.

The floor is clean, something I don’t think I’ve ever seen in person. It’s just me and the bed, my memory not clear enough to call the rest of Sawyer’s bedroom.

I stand and peer around the room.

A closet that once had a sliding door stands open, empty. I think the bookcase was there. At the thought, a shoddy white shelving unit appears in the shallow closet. It’s empty, but I _definitely_ won’t be able to remember what was in it.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

My knees nearly buckle, and I’m barely able to catch myself on the edge of the closet wall. My pulse beating a heady battery in my ears, I stumble around to find Sawyer standing before me.

But, no, it isn’t them.

There’s something _off_ about them that I can’t put my finger on. Just like the other versions of them I conjured back in the memories. It’s a projection.

I rock back on my heels, relief deep in my bones.

“You scared me,” I say with a grin.

They don’t reciprocate. If anything, their put-off frown deepens as they survey the room. “How long have you been here?”

“Maybe an hour,” I answer, my words faltering. This indifference is new for a memory, and it’s definitely not the mood I would want to catch them in.

They nod, distracted.

When are they from? They don’t look much different than they did when we came in here. While their back is turned I reach out to their mind with the question.

My vision whites out with a stab of cold fire in center of my skull.

My ears ring, static and white noise blocking everything else out. A soft voice exclaims under it all, but I don’t understand. The static crowds through my eyes, my ears, seeming to force itself down my throat.

“Connor?”

The sudden disappearance of the rush in my ears leaves a breathtaking absence. The projection of Sawyer peers down at me, concern in their eyes. Behind them, the room is gone and the darkness of the In-Between has returned. They stand straight when I sit up, their creased brow smoothed back into a mask of disapproval.

“What just—”

“It doesn’t matter,” they say.

The air shimmers at the sound of their voice, dark rainbows teasing my eyes. A dim light flickers over their left shoulder, and their mouth twists into a sneer with a glance at it. They look me over.

“It was a _nice_ room, everything considered.”

_Wow._

The contempt in their voice sends my brows shooting up, but I can’t hold back a smile. They scowl, another withering look pointed at the still-glowing orb, and offer me their hand.

I take it and drag myself to my feet.

“This isn’t your first time in the In-Between, I take it?” they ask. They swat at the light until it stops blinking.

“No.” I scratch the back of my neck. “I come every night.”

They stare at me, eyes hard. The light flickers again, and they glare at it. It flares bright, too bright, and I have to shield my eyes. When I look up, they hold it in their hands. It flashes, and their eyes bore into it without flinching

“ _Fine!_ ” they hiss.

Waves of oily color burst from them, and I _feel_ the sting of frustration when the dark rainbows pass through me. The orb slips through their fingers and hovers aimlessly in the air.

“Of all the sentimental, idiotic—” They take a breath and turn their attention back to me, the space around their eyes warped.

“Look, I’ll just go,” I say, taking a step back.

“Do whatever you want. You get special privileges, apparently.”

They turn away and leave me in the darkness. They don’t look back as they stalk off, the light still glimmering madly over their shoulder.

I watch them go. They don’t get far before I blink and they vanish. I look around, alone once again in the In-Between.

A residual ache rests behind my eyes, and I press into them with the heels of my hands. I haven’t experienced static like that first hand before, but I’ve heard Sawyer describe something like it when they talk about their panic attacks. I didn’t even get close to their mind and I was floored.

One thing’s for sure, that was no projection.

~-S-~

It’s been about a month, I think, since my visit to the hole, and I still haven’t told Connor about the nectar hidden in my arm. I keep coming close to telling him, but it’s so _easy_ not to.

Which is why I’m gonna do it now.

My theory is, it’ll be over and done with like ripping off a band-aid. I doubt he’ll be happy about it. If the fact I kept it from him doesn’t peeve him, the idea of me actually using it will. He’s changed a lot, but I doubt his standards have loosened that much.

I fidget with the golden container. I reached out to him just after lunch, the casual interaction in our minds much easier to find now, and we agreed to meet in my cell. He sounded intrigued, at the very least.

The longer I wait here alone, though, the harder it’ll be to tell him. I sit up on my bed to take a look around the prison with a pulse of thought.

He’s in the gym. Again.

I close my eyes and reach out directly.

I find Connor watching a fight between Kevin and Dominic. Dominic has the younger boy in a headlock, his eyes chips of ice. The sight sparks an uneasy feeling in my gut. Of course, there’s something satisfying about Kevin getting his ass kicked, so that more than makes up for it.

“I think he’s trying to give in,” I whisper in Connor’s ear. He nods, though he gives them a few seconds before saying anything.

“Maybe you’re right.” He claps his hands, but the two don’t stop tussling. “Hey, guys!” he shouts, and they break apart. “You’re done. Nick wins again.”

Dominic turns cold eyes on Connor and my hold on my awareness snaps.

I stare unseeing at the gold cylinder, the ghost of Tchaikovsky’s memory unwelcome in my vision. My lungs won’t pull in oxygen. My pulse hammers against my temple.

I’m trying my best to look at the Dominic ‘issue’ objectively. He’s so different from his father. He was here when I needed someone, even if I would have rathered it not be him. He’s trying _so hard_.

But his eyes are exactly the same. I don’t know if I can forgive those eyes, as unfair as that is to him.

I shiver and focus back on the container in my hand.

I’ve managed to leave the nectar hidden in my arm up till now, if only to avoid doing something stupid. Even now, the darkness within the shiny case calls me. My heart races with feral excitement, and it scares the hell out of me.

Without thinking, I pop the thing open and allow the tablets to roll onto my hand. First come the golden flecks of the warden’s second-rate nectar. Then red in the stronger stuff, subdued only by dehydration.

Purple winks at me from my own creation, a personal mix we made to limit the memory loss associated with ordinary nectar without giving up the power that comes with it. Cross is willing to give this to me, the nectar we made to give us a chance in a fight against him. He’s so _arrogant._

There is one version that I don’t recognize, though.

The blue flecks within them pique my curiosity. I’ve never seen this before, and new is dangerous. Especially when it comes as a present from Cross.

I end up rolling all of them back into the case with the blue ones on the bottom. The violet of my own nectar glitters at the top, setting me on edge. Even the memory of what it feels like to have that power at my fingertips sends euphoria through my veins.

It leaves traces of nausea as it passes. Too-wide grins, flawed morals, all of it proof that I can’t be trusted with this kind of power.

“I thought that disappeared when your last run ended.”

I jump, snapping the cylinder shut. Connor leans against the bars of my cell, eyes on my hands.

“It did,” I promise, no hesitation. He flicks a glance at me, and I drop my own gaze to the container. “I guess Cross got ahold of it, though.”

“Geez.” His surprise pulses between us, though I can’t hear it in his voice. “Does it have—”

“Yeah.” I offer it to him. “He gave it to me while I was in solitary; back when I first got here. I meant to tell you, but...”

He doesn’t respond, leaving me to fidget nervously while he examines it. He made it for me in my last run and I doubt he expected it to be returned to me by Cross, of all people.

He opens it, dark pills spread over his palm the same as I did. He only hesitates slightly at the new nectar, running his fingers over them. Silence reigns even after the tablets are sealed away with a soft click.

The connection between us remains void of any reaction, and I hold my breath.

“This will make the plan easier, right?” he asks, his voice light. With the words comes a touch of bitterness in the expanse between us. “You can play him at his own game.”

He offers the container back, but I hesitate at the ambiguous smile he wears. He’s taking this much better than I expected him to. I can handle bitterness—it’s better than the scathing commands he used to issue when he didn’t agree with my plans.

I reach for the container, and my hand brushes his.

Anger electrifies my skin, white-hot and churning with fear. I flinch back, case in hand, and the feeling disappears. His smile doesn’t waver, so I don’t think he knows I felt that.

“Hey.”

He turns away, a jerky motion, and starts for the exit. “I need to head back. The gym, they need me there.”

Uh, no. We’re doing this now.

“Connor.” Without thinking, I drop into the authoritative tone I use in the Cube as I stand.

He freezes in the doorway.

After a beat, he relaxes and turns back warily. I see myself through his eyes, roaring waves of vermilion frustration sweeping from my tense shoulders. The image disappears after an instant, but it forces me to pull my own reins.

“You aren’t as good at hiding things as you think you are,” I say, the edge in my voice softer now. “What’s going on with you? You’re so—”

I don’t want to say _different_ , but what else is there to say? Before, two years ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated to let me know what he thinks. He would have taken the nectar, likely would lecture me for dragging us down here.

This Connor is someone else. He’s supportive, but there’s such thing as _too_ supportive. Still painfully stubborn, he’s gone from one extreme to the other. I can’t read him, not accurately anyway.

“It’s like you’re not the same person.”

“I’m not,” he says with a tense shrug. He still doesn’t look at me, eyes pointed out of the cell. “Neither are you. We’ve both changed a lot.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” He winces, so I know I’m on the right track. “At first I thought it was. I thought, hey, it’s been two years. People change, but when have you _ever_ felt the need to keep it from me when you’re mad?”

He looks at me, and his casual mask disappears in wide eyes and a sharp gasp. It flows through to my mind, pushing against my irritation to leave my own feelings uncertain.

Behind his shock comes another lingering trace of fear.

“You think I’m mad at _you_?”

 _I_ pause at that.

“You mean you aren’t?”

He stares at me, and even if his guilt didn’t flood my senses I wouldn’t miss it. His mouth opens, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, his gentle breath of thought nudges me.

> “ ** _I’m mad at a lot of things. Not you._ **”

“Oh.” I avert my eyes this time, at the milling inmates outside. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He hesitates, then seems to deflate with a nod. His step is heavy, eyes tired, when he shuffles back to me. We sit side by side, Connor staring into his lap in silence.

I reach out and entwine my fingers with his. The touch strikes me with a bolt of anxiety, but I don’t let go. I squeeze his hand, and he nods again.

“I thought I could hide it. How much is different, I mean.” His words remain gentle, measured. “I don’t think things will ever be how they were before.”

“Well.” I run my thumb over the back of his hand. “Before was kind of shitty, anyway.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.” I knock my knee into his, pleased when he smiles. “Whatever it was you did in the memories made you a better person.”

“You think so?” He looks to me, desperation crackling from his hand to mine.

I nod, and the feeling dissipates. We sit in silence for a while, watching the inmates through the bars. When he speaks again, his voice is much softer.

“Would you have come here if I stayed home?”

I pause.

“Yes.”

“Why are we here?”

That question again. More than anything, my instincts tell me to redirect, hide the truth under platitudes. I can’t. I just can’t do that to him anymore.

“Cross.” I glare at the container full of nectar still in my right hand. “He belongs in the cell blocks where he can’t hurt anyone else. He’s never been able to resist this game.”

He nods, his brows furrowed.

“I’m just so _angry_ ,” he says. He closes his eyes, and another trace of that rage slips past his barriers. My own blood boils in response, thoughts scattered. “About everything. Him. Everything he’s done. Everything _else_.”

“Me, too.”

“How do you do it?” he asks, turning toward me and sandwiching my hand between both of his. “Hide how you feel, keep it from the ones that can’t see it?”

The question is so earnest, I can’t help but smile. “I’ve been hiding an entire life from the real people back home. A little anger is chump change compared to that.”

“That’s not healthy,” he says, and even he looks surprised at his words. His brows furrow and he settles back to look to the yard again. “We need to stop hiding things.”

“We’ll worry about that when we get home.” I retract my hand from his and direct his attention back to the nectar. “We have a lot of lying to do before this is over.”

“Couldn’t we just—” There’s a shout in the yard, but I don’t see anything when I look up. When he settles back down to look at me, a brief flash of frustration echoes between us. “It would be so _easy_ to shut this universe down and deal with it at home.”

My chest constricts, and I gaze at my warped reflection in the stunning gold case.

“That’s not an option.”

“But—”

“Just shutting him away would leave this in me.” I press my free hand into my chest, my breath hitching at the squirming fear hiding there. “I can’t be scared of him anymore. This needs to be _over_.”

He circles an arm around my waist, and I watch Connor press his head against my shoulder in the container’s reflection. I urge myself to respond, but all I can think is that he smells like the prison. He doesn’t smell like _Connor_ here, not after two years underground.

And that’s _my fault._

Guilt tears at my heart and I shrink into myself. Connor pulls back, and I sigh as his warmth recedes. He knocks his shoulder into mine, and I look up to find him grinning. His resolve strengthens our connection. It’s almost infectious.

Almost.

“Cross is waiting for you, right?”

I nod. “Can you promise me something before I go?”

“Anything.”

The light in his eyes almost makes me change my mind.

“You can’t tell the others about any of this.” His face falls, a miasma of uncertainty taking his mood on a complete 180, but I plow onward. “They’ll call me a traitor, and that’s fine because I’ll be _acting_ like a traitor.”

“They deserve to know.” His voice is hard, and I try not to get defensive.

“If Cross suspects me for a second, everything is over,” I point out. “Coming here will have been for nothing.”

He seems to struggle for another argument, but ends up shaking his head. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” I reach out and take his hand again. “It won’t take too long. You’ll be able to do this without me.”

“Will you be okay down there?”

I look up sharply, catching him before he can hide his uncertainty. I avert my eyes again. I don’t want to admit that I’m not sure either.

“If it gets too much, we can always go home. Don’t stay here just because you think you have to. You could have us back at your house acting like this never happened in a second.” He squeezes my hand. “Don’t forget that.”

I squeeze back and manage a smile, though I’m not really sure if I _could_ send us back anymore.

At another yell in the yard, we both shoot to our feet.

Gamzee falls backward out of a group in the center of the yard. A gap forms and Dominic steps out after him.

Damn.

“Oh, shit.” Connor starts for the exit, but comes up short when his hand leaves mine. He looks back to me, an apology pasted on his face. “Whatever you do, please be safe.”

“Of course—I’ll be fine.”

He races out, and I watch him go. He approaches the altercation, but I just watch _him_. The wire of thought connecting us provides me with his exasperation before he even gets close to the fight.

“I’m always fine.”

I say the words out loud, hoping he can still hear them. He doesn’t seem to react outwardly, but that doesn’t really mean anything. I sink back down onto the bed and stare at his back. The connection between us remains, a taut thread tying the two of us together, and the soft _rightness_ of it makes me wonder if it ever truly left.

♥♥♥ **c** ♥♥♥

“Hey, _hey,_ ” I call, stepping in front of Dominic. “The hell are you doing?”

He tries to side-step me, icy eyes on Gamzee. I don’t let him past, and he turns his glare on me.

“Give me one reason not to kill him now.”

I glance back at Gamzee. He hasn’t stood yet, eyes glazed. I genuinely can’t tell if his slow blink comes from blunt force trauma or his shithole of a personality. I turn back to Dominic and jerk my head back toward Sawyer’s cell. They sit in the shadows, eyes on us.

“How’s that for a reason?” I hiss. “They’re having a shitty enough day without watching you kill someone.”

He rocks back on his heels and takes a deep breath. I worry he might go for it anyway, but he backs off with his hands raised. He glowers at me before stalking off toward the stairs with all the subtlety of a cornered lion.

I shake my head and turn to face Gamzee, but he’s gone. I look around the yard, unable to spot him among the milling inmates. With nothing else to see, the crowd has begun to disband, dissatisfied muttering echoing along with it.

I sigh and follow Dominic up the staircase.

> “ _ **Is Dominic really a good guy?** _ ” Sawyer asks, their voice distant and wobbly over the fragile connection we share. “ _ **I don’t trust myself to make that call anymore.**_ ”

_You should talk to him,_ I shoot back. _Maybe you’d both learn something._

They don’t answer, but I still feel them on the edge of my consciousness.

_Think about it. I think he’s alright, if that helps at all._

Their warm presence whisks away as the rusted stairwell gives way to a platform along the fourth level. The threads of our connection remain in place, though, and I can’t help my relief. It solidifies my grip on my patience when I join Dominic in our cell.

“Get the hell out of here,” he snaps.

I stop in the entryway, my heart in my throat.

He leans against the beds, the beam of his cold eyes focused directly and wholly on me for the first time. I almost don’t see the rest of him, locked on those chips of ice, but even the thrill of panic keeping me rooted in place can’t block out his scowl. His hands curl into taut fists, and though he reclines against the metal frame of our bunks I doubt it would take much effort at all for him to jump to action.

I manage a step back, and his eyes widen. Even that small change from the narrowed glare eases the tension in my gut and the fear settles into a dull apprehension.

The combative set of his stance freezes, the strained air growing awkward as he watches me like I might bolt. The exchange can’t have taken more than a few seconds, but time stands still.

We watch each other warily until I let out a shaky laugh.

“You’re really something,” I say. “How long do you think you can keep this up?”

He averts his eyes and lets his shoulders slump back against the bed. “I need a few minutes. Everything will be fine in _just a minute_.”

“Of course.” I retreat further out of the cell but I still don’t leave. I look back to see him staring at the blank wall. “Hey, Nick?”

He grunts in response.

“You’re nothing like your father.”

His head jerks up, and I’m surprised to see his eyes stripped of both his fake childishness and the frosty bravado that so reminds us of his father. The tired gaze that remains is so _Dominic_ that it urges me on.

“He milked fear out of people.” I offer him a smile. “You don’t want us to be scared. You’re good people, Dominic.”

I start down the platform. He needs time to ponder that.


	9. Picking Up the Pieces

It’s been two days, and I feel like I’ve already waited too long.

I hold a tablet of the purple nectar in one hand and my key in the other. The rest of the nectar hides safely in my right arm. The tablet glimmers at me, and a feather light thrill of excitement runs up my spine.

Bile rises in my throat along with it, but it’s time to let go of these misgivings. I can’t afford them in the compound.

I turn my attention to the key in my right hand. In this universe, it’s been reduced to a glorified escape hatch. It can shift, sure, but that’s just a party trick. I’m about 90% sure that it’s the only way to get out of this world.

So, of course, Cross can’t be allowed anywhere near it.

Slowly, carefully, I push the key through my abdomen. It takes me a minute to find the perfect place. With only mild discomfort, I adhere it to the inside of my ribcage. Even Cross won’t be able to find it here, not without killing me.

That would really be a feat.

I’ve never _accidentally_ died in one of these games, but I have a pretty good idea of what might happen if I did. Everything _should_ fall apart until the universe can’t sustain itself, everyone thrown back to the Cube.

I try not to think about the other possibilities.

I drop down from my bunk, sauntering to the gap in the bars to scan the yard. Inmates mill in small groups, a few younger kids playing tag near the stairs. It’s a quiet day, all in all, and that’s likely because the idiot I’m looking for is nowhere to be found.

Of all days for Kevin to be MIA.

> “ ** _Should I be worried?_ **”

I flick my eyes up, in the direction of Connor’s cell, to find him watching me from the fourth floor. I roll the tablet of nectar between my fingers, and I can practically feel his brow raise.

_This’ll be nothing. Try not to get caught up in it, alright?_

Disbelief slides along the wire, and I wait patiently.

> “ ** _I thought you wanted this to be believable,_ ** ” he says eventually, and I’m surprised to hear a smile in his voice. “ ** _If I’m sitting here, tail tucked in my cell, how many red flags does that send?_ **”

I hesitate, squashing the instinct to argue because he’s _right_.

“Fine. Do whatever you want.”

♥♥♥ **c** ♥♥♥

My stomach turns at their words, delivered in the same cutting, falsely cavalier tone as their lookalike in the In-Between.

However, the echoing ramble of the irritation sliding between us, the way the vermilion clouds hug close to their shoulders, tells me their spite isn’t directed at me. They move the nectar between their fingers again, a soft twisting in the back of my head, and I think they catch my anxiety this time. The orange cloud dissipates, at least, their attention on something in the yard.

“It’ll be okay,” they promise. “In the end, all of this will be fine.”

And they throw the pill to the back of their throat.

Holy _shit._

I almost don’t have enough time to yank myself out of their head, and even that doesn’t seem to be enough. I still feel the haze of darkness scattering their thoughts. I feel their nails dig into their palm, hard enough to break the skin.

I feel their impulse control shatter.

I’m still frozen in place, trying to extract myself from the tangled and spreading trap of nectar, when they stagger into the yard and I see what prompted this. Several Skulls just waltzed into the yard, Kevin in the center of the group. Sawyer makes a beeline for them, their strides growing more streamlined with every second. I watch, helpless.

Kevin shouts something, a joke, a welcome, a mistake. The other Skulls take a step back when Sawyer gets close enough.

Sawyer grabs him by the neck of his shirt.

**_G̸Y͢M.͘ ͝NOW̢.̶_ **

The growl slides right through my defenses to dig slimy fingers into my head. The flickering image of a too-wide grin borne by the nectar knocks my feet into motion. I’m halfway down the first staircase before I register that I’ve even looked away.

This is the plan, but _god_ , I wish it wasn’t.

By the time I sprint into the yard, the excitement in the place already at a fever pitch, Sawyer’s nowhere to be seen, and the crowd surges toward the gym.

God. Fucking. _Damn it._

**_TH̨I̴S̡ W̸AS ͠AL̶WA͜YS͘ A ̡J͡O̶͟҉K̵̸E̶͢͠ T̕O ̛Y͝OU,͢ ͝WASN̶'͝T̡ ̢I͘T?_ **

I _feel_ their fist land on soft flesh, too hard. It reverberates up my own arm, the satisfaction churns among the nectar flashing across the wire like acid. I don’t dare reach out to them, I couldn’t hope to win against the nectar. All I can do is hold myself as far away from them as possible.

A single, desperate part of me hopes the connection will snap so I can just _think._

A wall of clamoring inmates blocks me from getting any closer to the gym, I can’t even see the door. Another strike vibrates my bones, this time through my right leg. Again. A third time.

That’s too hard a hit, the human body can’t take that, they’re going to _kill_ him.

A hand lands on my shoulder. The panic dissipates. Then—

**_P̕A͜͡T҉HET͡I̡C͞͏͟.̛_ **

I can’t tell if I hear the word aloud, or if it’s just that deafening in my skull. I shove the kid in front of me hard enough to knock him out of the way. It seems to give everyone the right idea, because now when I push ahead the inmates let me through.

**_͢҉͠REM̕͟EM͠B̡E̛͞R͡ T̛HI̷͏͞S ̡TH͟E ̴̷̛N҉̨Ę͠X͘͡T̸̨ ̢TI̢M̨̧E ̴͜YO͢҉U̢_ **

**_U͟͞ ̕N̶̨͞ ̡̡̕͞͝D̵̵̢ ͟E͜͝ ̶̷̛͢R̡̢͠ ̵̨͜E҉͠͞͝ ̡̧S͝ ͝T̸͝ ͢I͟͝͠ ̡̕M͏͟͏҉ ҉̸̕A҉͘ ̸̛̕͢͏T̨̛͞ ̵̧͡͡E̡͢͡ ̵̴̧ ̷̵̨̡͢M̧̢͜͝ ͜͏̸Ę̸͠.̵̧̡͘͝_ **

The wire trembles, and for a horrifying moment I think it might actually break, but it doesn’t. It stabilizes, and the first thing to hit me is horror. A firehose of sticky disgust drowns out the nectar until the darkness subsides into a glassy black lake beneath the surface.

I stumble into the gym just in time for them to back into me. In time for the siren to blare. I don’t move, eyes on Sawyer, when they slowly turn around to face me. I’m scared, for a second, that their eyes will be black when they look up.

They’re not. They don’t betray the waterful of self-loathing dancing on the wire, distant and hardly focused, but their eyes remain gray as always.

Thank fucking Christ.

They stare at me, frozen, the instant suspended in time by the siren screaming in the background. Then the siren ends, and their gaze flicks behind me. Rushed, babbling words halt the flow of emotion between us.

> “ ** _Fix Kevin. He’s an idiot and an asshole but he doesn’t deserve this."_**

I don’t really get a chance to answer before I’m shunted to the side. Stumbling, barely able to stay on my feet, I almost miss Sawyer’s glance back over their shoulder as two blacksuits drag them to the exit. A third hangs back to inspect something on the floor of the gym. I turn back to see Kevin lying still against the far wall. He looks _dead_ , but I can’t exactly ignore Sawyer’s last request.

I really hope it isn’t actually their last request.

I brace myself and step between Kevin and the suit. Surprise flits over the man’s eyes, but he doesn’t seem angry. He doesn’t try to push past me or berate me in any way. Lucky guess, that he’s one of ours. I’ve been in this prison for two years, and I have no idea how Sawyer can tell these guys apart.

“Cross catches you out of bounds, you’re good as dead.”

It’s not a threat.

I shrug. “We’re all on our way out anyway, aren’t we?”

He eyes me for a beat and turns back without another word.

Alone in the gym, I turn on my heel and stoop to Kevin’s side. I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when I find him _alive_. Three of his fingers stick up the wrong way and blood oozes between his lips, but the dazed look he gives the ceiling tells me he probably doesn’t even notice.

Holding a hand over him, I spread my awareness throughout his body and try to take stock of the damage. He doesn’t respond to the invasion, and that alone tells me I don’t have much time.

Still, he’s lucky.

The scene in his abdomen is nasty, a horrific hyperbole of what he did to them, but his spine is still intact and his shattered ribs and sternum came up short of his heart. The bones in his hand may as well be gravel for all good they’ll do him, the cracks reaching halfway up his forearm.

This is what the nectar does. It kills people, either physically or mentally, and there’s little you can do to fight it without succumbing to the poison yourself.

Why the hell did I think this was a good idea?

The siren rings again, the shock doors opening in the yard, and that snaps me out of it. I should be out there in the circle, but Kevin will be dead by the time I return. I’m sure Cross has better things to do than lynch me for staying in the gym now that he has Sawyer.

I shake my head and put it from my mind to refocus on Kevin’s wounds.

Pressing a hand against his chest, I slowly bring the bones there back where they belong and fuse them together. I try to be as brief and precise as possible, but it still brings a shriek of agony from the gang leader. I try to repair the new bleeds as I go, but there’s only so much I can do when I’m off my head like this.

I lower my hand and try to pinpoint all of the damage here. Sawyer bruised _everything_ and turned his liver to mush. It’s faster and much less painful to repair these, and Kevin seems to be gaining some life.

His head snaps around, and he tries to struggle upright. I nearly have to tackle him to keep him down.

“We aren’t done yet,” I mutter before moving on to his arm.

“Sawyer?” His voice is slurred, but the fact that he can talk is a good sign.

While his eyes are still unfocused, I drag the bones in his hand back in place. He immediately curses and tries to jerk away, but I hold firm.

By the time I’m finished, he looks more than recovered. He’s not in danger of dying, at least. Maybe of passing out, if I’m even close to right about how much blood he just lost.

“The _fuck_ just happened?”

I glance up at him, at the anger there. Might as well rip off the band-aid. “They decided to join the warden.”

“Y’should’ve stopped her,” he shoots back, inspecting his hand.

I bite back what I _want_ to say and stand. “I’m not their keeper.”

He starts struggling up, grumbling about it. On his feet, unsteady as hell, he glares at me. I know that look. He’s looking for another fight after getting his ass handed to him.

Before either of us can move, a group bursts into the room. They’re behind me, but I don’t dare turn my back on Kevin. I can definitely hear them, though, Dominic arguing with Bodie and his brother.

“Connor, what—”

“I said, _out_!” Bodie cuts across him.

Kevin narrows his eyes, but I still don’t look away. A short scuffle picks up, and Kevin finally backs down. I follow him with my eyes as he walks by, saying nothing when he clips my shoulder with his.

I finally turn around to watch him wave the other Skulls out. They glare daggers at my cellmate before following, but that might be because they look worse off than he does.

He watches them leave, then turns worried eyes on me.

I don’t know what to say to him. The way he looks at me, like I might have _answers,_ turns my stomach. When he starts what I assume is the beginning of a question, I wave a hand irritably and start for the door.

Dominic follows, and I feel his questions at my heels as well. The buzz in the yard doesn’t hide the thick silence between us while we climb the stairs.

Alex and Zee are already sitting on my bunk, waiting. They look up, and I still don’t have a clue what to say about Sawyer’s betrayal.

_‘Betrayal.'_

I expect the questions to come immediately, but the cell remains silent. When I look at the three of them, at Dominic climbing onto his bunk, I realize just how bad this must look. They don’t _know_. I look away, back out at the bright lights of the prison, sweeping my awareness out for the others.

It takes a few tries to fight through the anxiety, but I eventually get a good idea of what’s going on.

Donovan sits in the yard, listening to Kevin jabber about what happened. Gamzee isn’t far away, so I’ll just _assume_ he’s listening too. Monty and Jimmy have tucked themselves into a corner of the trough room, Monty tells Jimmy that he never trusted them.

_Even when they call you a traitor, huh?_

I turn back to the three behind me, my expression grave. They look scared, like they should be. Sawyer on the side of the enemy, that spells out destruction. I don’t think that _I_ stand a chance against them, not when they have nectar on their side.

But that still leaves the unspoken question: _What do we do now?_

“This is bad,” I say lamely. It sounded better before I said it, but I have to swallow my misgivings and move on. “We don’t know what they’re up to, but this doesn’t really change anything. I think we should follow the plan and hope for the best.”

“‘Hope for the best?’” Alex echoes. He isn’t looking at me, chewing on a fingernail and staring into the middle distance. “The _best_ thing we can do is take a flying leap. End this before it can get worse.”

“You don’t mean that,” Zee mutters. “We’ve done it without them before, we can do it again.”

“Can we?” We all look at Dominic. He glances between the three of us, then continues. “They know our plan. Hell, they _made_ the plan.”

I wave the concern away, deep in thought.

“Cross has known, every time, how we get out of the prison. We’ve always made it out. I think he just wants to prove he can win the fight in the tower, that he deserves to be Furnace’s favorite.”

Even though Furnace has been dead for more than a year now.

“He’ll definitely be ‘Furnace’s favorite’ now he’s convinced Perry to turn on us.”

I don’t look, though I nod at the thought, when Donovan brushes past me to join the others. He considers me expectantly, and the other three mirror his expression. I stare back at them.

“What?”

“With them gone, that makes you the leader, right?”

It’s Alex that says it, and that surprises me more than anything. He was the original ‘leader,’ the one that kept the group together before Sawyer decided to jump into the story. If anyone deserves to call the shots, it’s him.

It’s his story that we stole, and this _isn’t_ _what I do_.

I’m used to helping.

I send gifts through the walls of a universe and sneak pieces of memories to Jay, that’s what I’m good at. I give advice, not lead people into impossible battles while convincing those behind us we can win. _Then actually win._ The idea of leading this group without them in the background pulling the strings knocks my heart into my throat.

But the others seem to agree with Alex. They wait for me to begin, so I mentally smooth myself. Sawyer’s gone, and I’m left to clean up this mess. I guess I finally know how they felt while I was gone.

“Here’s what we’re going to do.”

~-S-~

I pace the lab, pausing now and then to sift through papers on the tables. This place is a mess. If I’m going to be doing anything around here, we’ll need some organization.

Cross keeps prattling on behind me. He’s been talking since I arrived. I stopped listening a long time ago, before we passed the infirmary.

My mind runs faster than I can follow, the nectar still doing its work. By now it will have infected my marrow and begun replicating. I need to get a grip, find my center. I need to get to work on something, anything, if I want to stay sane. I scratch the inside of my forearm idly, reading notes on the composition of the different nectars.

There’s nothing about the blue stuff here, either.

“Perry, did you hear me?” the warden snaps. I jerk my head in a sharp nod, but he repeats himself anyway. “Never come past the wheezers’ cells on your own. Not until you’ve gone through your—”

“I’m not doing the surgeries.” I interrupt. I wave him away with one hand and stack papers into neat piles with the other. “And I’m not leaving the lab; you said yourself that this is where I’ll be most useful.”

He says nothing about the surgeries, a surprise, his frown only deepening at the demand to stay here. “You must work on the recruits in the infirmary, you know that, and there are creations back here that will not hesitate to—”

“You mean the suits you turned against me?” What a joke. “I can protect myself. I might even be able to reverse the damage you’ve done.”

“You can’t hide from your choice,” he says. Irritation and venom lace his words, but that’s nothing new.

I ignore him, too focused on the space in front of me. Unfortunately, I can’t ignore him prying a vial from my hands. I finally look at him, with half a mind to spit in his face.

“I’m not an employee, Cross, or a soldier. Not this time. I’m here to do what I need to do. No ‘out-of-bounds,’ no lies, no bullshit,” I pause for a fraction, then add, “No surgeries.”

I start a little when he smiles. A surprisingly familial offering, similar to the ones he gives to the blacksuits when they’re still recovering from their training. I narrow my eyes.

He places the vial in a test tube rack before speaking. “No surgeries.”

I watch him for a beat longer, wary, but turn back to the table to continue gathering up loose papers.

“Although,” he adds. I don’t look at him. I stare the page at the top of my stack of paper. _Isolating memory manipulation._ “A few days in the screening room do seem to be in order.”

The words reach my ears, but I don’t think I really hear them. I do turn, however, in time to see a flash of light on a glass. The information hits the part of me that matters, the part that can still _think_ , at the same time the needlepoint pierces the skin on my neck.

I scream and claw at the skin, but it’s too late. The needle is gone, the syringe empty. I expect the fire of nectar, but this is different. A murky haze glazes my vision and wall of darkness pushes against my mind. I look to Cross in confusion.

The light behind him blurs into a twisted caricature of holy light. I don’t remember why I’m supposed to be so scared. I don’t even realize that I’m falling until I hit the floor and hear Cross sigh.

“This is all for your own good. You _will_ thank me in the end.”

~-S-~

Whispers all around me.

The sounds are too far away for me to understand, but my annoyance still swells. I have something important to do, but I don’t remember what. The memories I need dance just out of reach, pulled apart amid the whispering and the rush of an unseen river whenever I get too close.

The whispers get closer the longer I keep my eyes closed, and I’m dangerously close to getting a headache. Louder, overpowering the pulse of the water swallowing everything else.

Oh. I think someone’s _talking to me_.

I tune in to the voice, now, finally interested. It’s vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place it. There’s some sort of accent, different from my own.

Sounds punchable, anyway.

“... unless the machines are broken. I’ve gotten used to specimens ignoring me, but my patience is wearing thin. I’ll start the reels soon, whether you answer me or not. Are you ready?”

He sounds angry. At me? He obviously knows I’m awake.

My eyes flick open, and I find that I’m sitting up. I’m strapped into a chair, though I’m not sure why. My head faces a blank projection screen, fixed in place. The sight stirs some sort of memory, crying out in revolt.

“Ah, there you are,” the voice from before says, halting my thoughts. I peer into the corner of my eyes to find a man I recognize. Cross?

Cross.

The _warden_. Yeah, punchable is in understatement. I don’t know how much control I have over my own face, but something in my expression prompts a chuckle from him.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demand with a tug against the straps on my arms. “Are you insane?”

There’s a small click behind me, and the projector comes to life. I try to close my eyes, but a suit has already come forward to pin them open.

“I had to do some tedious work to find these reels, but I think it will be worth it. After this, you shouldn’t have any second thoughts about leaving those friends of yours.”

Cross continues talking, but I stop listening when the suit moves to reveal the screen.

These aren’t the normal reels. They should be telling a story of war and cruelty. A visual thesis in favor of Furnace and his family. Strength, power, everything the nectar promises, etc. etc.

These are my memories.

He’d been in the memory sectors, watching Furnace’s memories. I knew that. I _knew_ that, and I should have known it wasn’t _sentimentality_ that brought him there.

“Now, I have some complications to deal with. We’ll have to lock away those suits, for a rainy day...”

Cross’s voice fades yet again and I barely notice the pinch in my arm as an IV is inserted. The blue nectar flows smoothly into my system as the edges of my memory go fuzzy again.

This is different than any other nectar I’ve tried before. It’s not a river, pounding against the sides of my head, no, this is _new_. As if in a dream, sticky fingers drag me under a pool of shimmering dark water. The light of the projector dances in my eyes a distraction from the thought of struggle.

None of this feels real.

I stare at the screen, seeing but not seeing. I don’t know what to do. All of my abilities within this world mean nothing anymore if I can’t fight this, can’t reach my fingers up through the surface of the nectar.

Then, all of that slides into the abyss as well.

♥♥♥ **c** ♥♥♥

I’ve been listening for Sawyer, hoping they would reach out to me, ever since they disappeared into the compound.

In the lull of the nectar’s activity, I managed to pull back a safe distance from their thoughts. I intend to stay that way, _far_ away, unless they look for me first.

I can’t risk looking for them. I can’t risk tangling the two of us together again. We shouldn’t have gotten that streamlined in such a dangerous universe in the first place.

There was one brush from them a few hours again, a lazy touch. They felt half-asleep, and I couldn’t decipher anything more than the swirling eddies of nectar-borne fury.

Since then, the wire has been vibrating, an annoyance that I barely feel. Gentle strumming that I attribute, once again, to the nectar. It buzzes in the back of my head like a fly against glass, making it hard to concentrate on Dominic.

He slaps a hand against the table to bring my attention back to him.

“Did you hear me?”

“I—” I run a hand over my my face and sigh. “No. Sorry.”

He leans back on the bench, brows furrowed. In the end, it’s a relief when he doesn’t pursue it. “When’s Gary supposed to get here?”

“A week or two, I think.” I answer promptly. “Sawyer was pretty vague.”

“Damn.” He looks away, out into the chattering crowd in the trough room. “Do you think this was their plan from the beginning?”

“No.” The response comes out before I can stop it, and Dominic turns his eyes on me again. Shit. “I don’t think so, at least. I hope not.”

“Where did they get the nectar?” he asks. There’s something in his tone, a note that wasn’t there before, and it makes me uneasy. It feels like an interrogation.

I need to divert this now. With the buzz of the wire increasing, I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to keep my head clear.

_Lights, camera, action._

“I don’t know. They didn’t—”

I force my voice to cut out, eyes to unfocus in an act I’ve seen from Sawyer too many times to count. ‘Of course, I just realized something,’ their surprised gasp seemed to say, ‘as if it didn’t occur to me several minutes go, as if I’m not the cause, as if I _didn’t already know_.’

I hope I pull it off, anyway.

“The hole.”

“Th—” A startled sound in his throat breaks him off, and the realization I faked hits him. He moves forward to lean on the table. “We need to get out of here _._ ”

I shake my head.

“We _need_ to wait for Gary. He might be a pain in the ass, but we’ll die without him.” I push up from the table and lift my tray. It’s too loud here, too hard to think. “We have to be—”

The wire _snaps._

A ringing emptiness takes the place of the vibration, and I find myself staring at the table. I try to break out of the paralysis, to leave the trough room, but I can’t _move_. I can’t reach out for them with my awareness, search through the In-Between, anything, the dread punching through my gut leaving me useless.

“Connor? You okay?”

Dominic’s voice slices through the shock.

I manage to look at him, the concern on his face maybe the funniest thing I’ve seen in my fucking life. Sawyer’s down in the compound with Cross, drowning in nectar, could be dying for all I know.

And he’s worried about _me_.

I can’t hold back a laugh that feels wrong even to me. I turn away, shaking my head, biting back every _single_ thing I want to say.

I promised. I swore I wouldn’t tell anyone.

“Don’t worry about it, Nick.”

~-S-~

The images are all I have.

They blur together, undecipherable words woven with the pictures on the screen. Hurt and hate, and a voice that holds me like chains. Soft, cloying, as gripping as the darkness in my vision.

If I could move, I’d rip the speaker’s vocal chords out.

A hand drops onto my shoulder, but I can’t find the energy to react.

I feel more than hear the visitor speak. I can’t decipher what is said, but the set of sounds, the _shape_ of the words sparks a fire in my chest. The lazy swirls of darkness seize, and I jerk my head.

My mouth moves, a snarl ripping through my throat at the audacity of the intrusion. I don’t know what I say, if I say anything, but fingers dig into my shoulder. Another sound, and I’m slow to recognize it as laughter.

This time, the words rise with meaning through the thick water blurring the world together. “Very good. You put up a strong fight, but we got there in the end.”

The hand leaves, and I almost forget it was ever there, the light of the images blurring with the first irritating voice once again.

Soon, I think, I’ll silence it.


	10. Blood is Thicker Than Water

I wake up in a dark room. Cross stands at the side of my cot, changing an IV bag, but I’m not exactly looking at him. Purple flecks shine within the bag, and my pulse quickens. The nectar in my blood rejoices at the mere sight of more, and I don’t even try to suppress the smile it brings on.

“Awake already?”

My brother.

I can’t shake the feeling that I haven’t seen him in a long while. I try to remember, but there’s a gaping hole in my way. A hole with fear and weakness threading around the edges.

That would be the nectar.

I don’t need to remember, don’t _need_ to know what I did. The idea of being back with my family is comforting. That’s all that matters.

“How long have I been out?” My mouth is dry and the words crackle out like sandpaper.

Cross takes a seat next to my bed and hands me a metal cup from a tray nearby. The water, crisp and cool, chases the last dregs of sleep away.

“It’s been nine hours. How do you feel?”

I hesitate, eyes on the cup. I feel Cross’s eyes on me, waiting for an answer. So I oblige. “It’s good to be home.”

“What do you remember from your time away?”

He takes the, now empty, cup from me and refills it with a pitcher from the tray. He hands it back, and I sip from it while I try to remember. The hazy smoke surrounding whatever the nectar doesn’t want me to know doesn’t budge when I push against it. What a _relief._

“Barely anything,” I admit. “Just confusion, no control. I felt so—” I cut off, frowning. “I don’t even remember why I was gone.”

A grin spreads across his face while I talk.

“Someone convinced you that what he believed was more important than what we do. He was wrong.”

_Obviously._

“When can I get back to work?” I move to stand, but he holds a hand up to stop me.

“I want to keep an eye on you for a few more hours.” His gaze grows stern when I grimace. “You fought against the nectar with a vengeance. You would do the same in my place.”

I nod but fidget with the cup in my hands. Irritation echoes in my head. It feeds the nectar bubbling there. I shouldn’t be stuck in a bed.

He stands, the motion enough to break me out of my brooding glare at the cup.

“Give it time. You’ll be back on your feet in the morning.”

**♥️♥️♥️C♥️♥️♥️**

“This feels wrong.”

I glance at Zee.

He holds his pick up, but doesn’t hit the wall with it. I keep cracking against the wall, doing my job. Just do the job, get this done, soon we’ll be out of here.

“Everything’s wrong right now,” I retort between clenched teeth. At the continued silence by my side, no sharp strikes against the rock wall, I know he’s not going to drop it. This is Zee we’re talking about.

I finally let the head of my pick clatter to the ground, gripping the handle tight, and turn to face him. He leans against his and watches me with furrowed brows.

“What?”

“How do you know the blacksuits are on our side?”

The question throws me off guard. The suits came here to help Sawyer. That’s what they do, what they _always_ seem to be doing. How the hell am I supposed to explain that without giving the whole damn play away?

With the _truth_ , probably.

I sigh.

“They work for the Scouts. I hired them to make sure the plan works.”

I leave out the part where most of the loyal ones ended up in the tower. That a steadily growing number of the suits down here would still stake their life on Cross and Furnace, if the few conversations I’ve had about it are any indication. That I can’t distinguish between the two.

His eyes widen, and he straightens up. “Which plan?”

I stare at him. Does he know? He’s probably brighter than most of us here, so I wouldn’t be surprised. Before I have a chance to say something stupid, he continues.

“Like, Je—Sawyer, I mean—made the plan. Are the suits helping with _our_ plan, or whatever _their_ plan turns out to be?”

I shrug and lift my pick again. “I’ll get back to you on that. It’s on my list.”

I breathe easy when that finally ends the questioning. We get back to work, but it doesn’t last long.

“Tools down!” A suit calls.

The strikes cease immediately, and I let the surge of inmates pull me toward the central chipping room. While we wait for our turn in the showers, I drift back toward the door to Room Two. A glance at the surrounding walls tells me that the boarded up door is still safe from cameras, so I lean against the slats to bide my time.

I really hope that this suit is one of ours. I can’t afford a trip to the hole right now.

This time, when the crowd rushes forward for the promise of the cool water of the showers, I stay behind. Not even Zee pauses to wait for me, but I flash a smile when he looks back from the doorway.

Which alerts the blacksuit ushering them out that I’m still here. The half-moon grin he wears used to unnerve me, but it’s been two years since I landed myself in the prison. I’m more than used to them by now, even if they all look the _same_.

“Connor,” he rumbles and stops in the safe zone near the slats. “Took you long enough.”

Thank _god_.

“Are they okay?” I ask automatically, straightening up from the boards.

He shakes his head, and my stomach _drops_.

“They’re not hurt,” he clarifies, that smile slipping into something more serious. “But Cross is up to something. He isn’t letting us anywhere near them.”

His contempt aimed at Cross is comforting enough to ease some of my worries. I should be up front, anyway.

“I wanted to clarify a few things about our arrangement.” I manage not to speed through the words this time. “Now that Sawyer’s loyalties have changed—”

I stop at the blacksuit’s laugh. He waves my now-unasked question away.

“If you think we believe they would join him, you’re underestimating us,” he assures me. “Look, we’ll keep an eye on them. Whatever Cross is doing, they’ve kicked his ass through worse.”

I finally manage a genuine grin, because _he’s right_. I’m being paranoid. They likely cut the connection as insurance, just like them keeping me from telling anyone about the deception.

I shouldn’t worry. We’ll be fine.

~-S-~

“Are you sure that you don’t remember anything else from your time away?”

I don’t look up, tired of the question.

“I’m not a science experiment, Cross,” I say shortly, buttoning my shirt. “I don’t remember more than I’ve told you and I’d rather not think about it.”

“Good answer.” He stands next to the door, now pulling it open. “I have some business to take care of, but I should be back before you’re ready.”

I take my time in putting my suit on, the uniform I remember wearing proudly. I push away the lingering question of why that may have changed. Some things are better left unknown.

I only pause when I pull my hair out from under the thin white shirt.

_That is much longer than I thought._

I frown, twisting a lock of it between my fingers. The rest reaches down to the small of my back, I find, a bright carnation all the way down. I frown. I can’t remember the last time I looked at my hair.

Just how _long_ have I been gone?

I shake my head and loop a royal blue tie around my collar. It takes seconds to fasten, and soon enough I’m smoothing my jacket down. I take a moment to appreciate the feeling.

I’m home.

I breathe it in and clip a com to my collar, ready to work.

I take a step forward, but stop once again when I feel my hair swinging along my back. A glance at my wrist provides me with a brand new hair tie, and I pull my hair into a ponytail on my way to the door.

I’ll have to cut it later.

Walking down the hall, Cross and I chat about the news of the prison.

Apparently a new location is set to open in four months, down in Germany. I ask about how the conversion process has changed, and he mentions that my nectar and something new he’s been cooking up have a large role in the new system.

When we reach the infirmary, he stops.

“You’re free to go on to the lab without me, of course. I’m sure you can find your way,” he says, already ducking through the curtains to one of the cots. “You should have your keys.”

I already get free run of the place?

_Sweet._

I wait until exiting the room to pat my pockets one by one. In my jacket, I find a simple keyring with three keys attached. One of them must go to the wheezers’ cells, but I’m not sure about the other two. It’s been so long since I’ve been here, there could be countless new additions to the compound.

I glance uneasily around and peer into the surgery amphitheaters as I pass. Most are empty, but a few have wheezers ambling within. One looks up from its work, returning my gaze.

_Nope._

I kick my speed up a notch and keep my eyes forward as I pass the junction between the furnace and the rest of the compound. When I reach the door to the wheezers’ cells—and pretty much everything else—I manage to guess the right key on the first try.

A ghostly crooning fills the air when I open the door.

I step in and lock it behind me, hyperfocused on keeping my movements relaxed. I _try_ not to let my gaze waver as I cross the room, I really do.

I sneak a glance to the cells across the room, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up. A small gathering of the hunched, gas-masked doctors of Furnace track me with their coal eyes.

They’re too close.

I force my own eyes forward, not slowing until I slam the door shut on the other side of the room. I pause, key still in the lock, jaw clenched. The nectar works to smother the arrow of fear holding me in place, but it takes too long.

They were _too close_ and I couldn’t _say anything_.

Then the nectar draws a smooth curtain over the thought and I shove the keys back into my pocket.

Just as Cross said, my feet seem to take me through the right set of corridors to get me where I want to be. The doors open as I approach, and I bask in the feeling of belonging.

I’m _home_.

I hang my jacket from a hook and snatch a protective coat from the wall as I delve into the lab. I’m about to shrug it on when the doors begin to close behind me.

“H̵͝e͘͜҉y҉̵̨͢͠ _._ ”

I stop dead at the sound: A voice like static, twisted into a barely decipherable word. The jacket slips through my fingers when I turn. The doors close, but not before I see a figure standing in the hallway beyond. I stare at the door for a moment, dismayed.

No one should be back here.

When I snap out of it, I take a step toward the doors and they once again swing open. There’s no one there. Uneasily, I stride back out of the lab to peer around the next corner, then into the few store rooms lining the hall.

No one.

Though I feel as if I’m being watched, I return to the lab and don’t look back when the door shuts me in. Scanning the room, searching for a place to begin, I think hard and itch at my inner arm. I have a lot of work to do if I want to earn the kindness that Cross has shown me since my return.

♥♥♥ **c** ♥♥♥

The plan really hasn’t changed at all. We’ll pull Gary into the escape plan and split as soon as possible. I thought about waiting for our original planned escape day, but Alex is right.

We shouldn’t ride on Sawyer going easy on us.

I watch from the edge of the yard as Gary Owens and the kids sent down with him step from the elevator. The younger ones press close together, peering around with wide eyes, but Gary looks right at home.

When Kevin beckons the rest of us to join him for the show of threatening them, I follow. I’d rather not, but I’m the one that has to deal with this asshole.

In this iteration of this world, I knew Gary.

Before, it just felt like random trivia, a string to attach the group together. Now, though, it makes me uneasy. It’s like the threads of the new universe knew that Sawyer would leave us.

Anyway, we close in on the new kids. Most of the others wield their own weapons. I stay at Kevin’s side, Gary my only concern. His eyes rove over the group and stop on me. We maintain eye contact until Kevin opens his fat mouth.

“New fish!” he crows, focusing on the smaller kids.

Toby and Ashley weren’t cut out for this, and I wonder if it would be hard to talk Alex and Zee out of bringing them with us. They aren’t part of our group, and I don’t even know if they would be _able_ to come.

Since Sawyer left, I’ve seen a lot of glassy eyes. The inmates in the prison have been less responsive, slower to react to the things we do. I know all of this depends on them keeping the place existing, so maybe it’s an effect of their distraction?

The automatons are starting to lose their paint, no matter how you look at it.

“Sawyer,” Gary mutters.

I’ll cross my fingers that it’ll make _this_ particular automaton easier to deal with.

One of the Skulls nearby tenses up, and I hold a hand up to stop him from provoking the one inmate here I’m actually scared of. Gary catches the exchange and quirks a brow. Surprised, or maybe impressed. You can never tell with people like him.

“Owens. They finally caught you, huh?”

“Took a couple pigs with me though,” he says with a smirk.

Yeah, that’s about what I expected. I glance at Kevin, who’s at least smart enough to keep his distance from Gary. Maybe I can keep it from devolving into violence this time.

“Listen, Gary,” I say, voice low. “Keep your head down. Won’t be able to catch you up if you get the guards on your ass right away.”

His eyes sweep the full yard, and I definitely don’t miss the disdain he regards Kevin with when his gaze lands on him. Still, he nods and I let myself relax. The siren calls out to signal the welcome wagon, and I draw back with the rest of the Skulls. Gary gives me a lazy salute before I turn away. His mockery of a smile chills my blood, but there’s nothing I can do about that.

“You sure we couldn’t do this without him?” Alex sidles up next to me, watching Gary. He knows as well as I do that we need him later, but the guy should probably be in solitary confinement for everyone else’s protection.

“Of course I’m not sure,” I say, if only to ignore Cross’s self-aggrandizing speech. “I don’t want to have to find out, though.”

He sends another long look at Gary, fidgeting.

“How soon can we go, then?” he continues in a lower voice. “Just to get it over with?”

“If he decides to cooperate, tomorrow.”

“If he _doesn’t_?”

I shake my head, returning my attention to the spectacle in time for Gary to join the circle.

_Oh, joy._

He settles beside me, and I don’t have to look to know that Alex has made himself scarce. Unfortunately, as the resident Owens Whisperer, I can’t do the same.

“You a hot shot here?” he asks under his breath. “Head of some crew?”

“Doesn’t matter. You won’t be here long enough to worry about it.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

“That a threat, Sawyer?” he growls. Loud, too loud. The warden himself pauses in doling out cells, and I have to backpedal _hard_.

“No, Christ, we’re getting out,” I hiss once everyone has looked away. “Tomorrow. I’ll give you the details later.”

That fucking _grin_. A year of it on the outside, and it’s still worse than the half moons of the blacksuits. He claps me on the back without a word, and I can finally breathe. Two interactions with Gary Owens—both successful.

I catch the tail end of Cross’s customary ‘beneath heaven is hell, beneath hell is Furnace’ closing. Suitably edgy for a place like this. Then he says something new while looking directly at me. “This may look like an ending, but I’d like to think of it as a new beginning. I’m sure you’ll be seeing me again very soon.”

I wish I could meet his gaze head on, but his eyes are hardly Normal Person Friendly. I remain impassive, anyway, focused on that awful, uncanny-valley smile.

Yeah, I’ll be seeing him again soon. I just hope I’ll be able to make an impression when I do.

**♥️♥️♥️C♥️♥️♥️**

The suit in charge of our chipping room doesn’t bat an eye at having the seven inmates not meant to be here clustered around me, Donovan, and Kevin. In fact, when our group settles next to the entryway, he pauses to shoot me a wink before walking directly into the _other_ chipping room.

_Score._

I reach over to tap Zee’s shoulder.

He doesn’t look at me, just turns on his heel to stride back out of the room. Alex, Donovan, Monty, and Jimmy follow. The other inmates say nothing, not that I expected them to. Happy little programs, doing what they were made for.

“You really think they won’t bounce without us?” Gary’s hiss sounds in my ear, and I have to bite back a groan.

“I know them better than you, Owens,” I spit back. “We’ll be fine.”

And I turn to follow the first group with Gary, Dominic, Kevin, and Gamzee at my heels. No one says anything in the room we leave behind, and all of us duck through the slats in Room Two before that can change.

“Go meet with the others,” I whisper. “I won’t be long.”

Not even Gary argues, swallowed by the darkness of the empty cavern. Gamzee lingers, lazy eyes on me, and I struggle against my impulse. This would be the perfect opportunity to kill him, after all.

He grins, an almost-friendly offering, and melts back into the darkness.

I wait until he’s gone, footsteps echoing into silence, before peering out into the chipping rooms. Counting the seconds, I wait.

And I wait.

I know that even Gary won’t be able to light the gas without the striker, no matter how impatient he gets. I have time to spare. They don’t have a choice but to wait for me. I’m fine, this is fine.

I jolt out of that cycle when a blacksuits enters the central chipping room. One more time, likely the last order I’ll give in the prison. I take a calming breath and knock on a board.

The blacksuit perks up, and I instantly know I made a mistake. This is a different blacksuit.

He’s confused, staring with his head cockedat the blocked entryway I stand in. Was standing in, now that I’m backing away. The one we saw earlier, he _knew_ we were going today. They should all know.

This one obviously doesn’t.

My heel bumps an object on the ground. It clatters, a metallic sound, and I know I’ve found the striker. I move as slowly as I can, eyes still on the approaching blacksuit. He doesn’t seem to have seen me, but that could change at any moment.

And it does, just as my hand closes around the piece of metal on the ground, wrapped in the thin fuse. For the first time in more than a year, the grin splitting the blacksuit’s face makes me feel sick.

“Well, isn’t it just my lucky day?”

I drop all pretense of trying to be sneaky.

I’m fumbling with the fuse and striker when the first two boards snap. I don’t look up again until I get the damn thing lit, and when I do, I almost can’t believe it.

Another board snaps, alright, but it isn’t with the rogue suit’s fist.

It’s with his head.

Another blacksuit grips his hair, and I don’t think he’ll be getting up any time soon based on the blank stare he gives when his head comes up from another knock against the slats. From the sound of it, a crowd’s forming out there, but I don’t have time to be a spectator. As great as it would be to watch, to thank the guy that may not survive the next few minutes, I gotta go.

I clutch the striker to my chest and run, flicking the light of my hard hat on when it gets too dark to see. How much time did I waste after lighting the fuse? How long did the suit buy us?

The blast hardly rocks the ground when it goes off, but I definitely _hear_ it. The rockfall, alongside the explosion itself, gives me hope of it keeping us safe long enough to get into the river. The dust from behind me slows me down. When I finally do make it to the rest of the group, it’s with stubbed toes and hacking coughs.

The clamoring voices asking for explanations and answers all run together with the roar of the river beneath us. I don’t wait to listen to them, light shining on the crack, on the gloves full of kerosene, on the _fuse_. For a moment, I don’t think they’ll even notice that I’ve lit the fuse.

All nine of them fall silent when I stand, and the siren start up in the distant prison under everything else. Then they all scatter for the safety of the surrounding rocks. I follow, less hurried, ducking behind an outcropping from the wall.

It takes too long, a soft pop the only thing I hear in the long silence.

I count thirty seconds before I start to panic. My heart stutters, the prospect of the gas not breaking through the rock _too much_ for me. If this doesn’t work, we’re dead.

Cross will kill us, make it a spectacle for the whole prison.

I don’t want to look. Don’t want to admit _again_ that this could have been a bad idea. Don’t want to deal with Gary throwing a fit, with the disappointment of my friends, with the terror and pain I know is ahead.

But no one says anything. It’s quiet. Silent. I can’t hear the river, nor the siren.

I peek out from my hideaway, and my knees buckle under the tide of relief. I hit the ground hard, but at least I can _see_ because the spark of the fuse tearing through the gloves in the crack is frozen. A perfect snapshot, held in time. The gas will work, like it always has.

I don’t have to look far to see who’s responsible.

Kneeling beside the fire, muttering softly, is _Sawyer_. They don’t look up, don’t acknowledge me at all, hands spread over the edges of the crack in the floor.

They’re wearing the same outfit we entered the universe in, that ratty purple and gray jacket and jeans. Their hair hangs down to hide their face, a mane of blonde and rose, and they look so _healthy_ after watching them fall into the same rugged half-life we all have in Furnace.

Their head jerks up, and they stare directly at me. It reveals the subtle wrongness of the ‘projection’ I met in the In-Between nearly two weeks ago. Something in the eyes, the way their cheeks react to the downturn of their mouth.

We maintain eye contact for too long before they puff out a breath.

“I forgot about you and your _special privileges_ ,” they mutter. They lean back to balance on their heels in a way I actually think might be impossible. “You might be in for a bad time if you aren’t going to pause when I tell you to.”

Yeah, definitely not a projection.

“What. Are you doing here, exactly?”

They consider me, then cross their arms over their chest. I’m guessing that whatever it is is _top secret_ and they _can’t tell anyone_ . They might not be a projection, and they might not be _Sawyer_ , but they’re definitely just as dramatic.

“Checking something,” they finally admit. “You shouldn’t worry about it. _This,_ at least, isn’t a big deal.”

So something else is.

“Who are you?” I ask, instead.

They smile, but it’s nothing I’ve seen from Sawyer before. This looks more like Jay, a grimace trying to be kind. At least that’s still familiar, something close to home.

“Like I said, you shouldn’t worry about it.” They stand, the fluid motion once again disregarding gravity. “Next time, try your best to listen when the universe tells you to stop existing for me, yeah?”

There’s nothing I can really say to that. If the universe isn’t pausing me, what can I do about it?

They approach my side of the cavern and stop at one of the larger rocks. They peer behind it with a disdainful sniff. When they turn on me again, the light of the paused explosion hits their eyes directly to reveal static hiding in the gray of their irises.

“Please get rid of it before  _Cross_ can get his hands on it,” they mutter, a hand on the top of the boulder. “It’s not supposed to be here and it _will_ get in the way.”

I blink at them, but they don’t proceed with any kind of explanation. So, I finally push myself back to my feet and look behind the boulder myself.

“Oh.”

Gamzee. It’s _such_ a relief to know his whole ‘I’m immune to whatever plot blocks I should have’ shtick doesn’t extend to the entire universe pausing.

Uh. Like it does to me, I guess.

“So, you’re the one with the paper, then,” I say lamely.

This time, their smile actually reaches their eyes when they shrug. They step back and give a final look at the fire behind them. “You should get back behind your wall. I shouldn’t stay here longer than I have to.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

Without even considering it, I shuffle back into the shadow of my rock outcropping. They offer a small wave, a more pleasant farewell than our last meeting. But they pause, their brows shooting up and their lips parting in a sharp inhale, and _this_ is a classic Sawyer expression.

_‘Oh yeah!’_

“Before I go.” They flash me a grin, and something about it feels _wrong_ , patronizing. “Good luck, Connor. You’re going to need it.”

And my hearing shuts down with the explosion on the other side of the wall the instant they vanish. I remain pressed against the wall, staring at the open air. That last smile pops in the spots in my vision from the flash, and it’s all I see.

The river rushes louder than before, the siren laces at all together, all of it jerks me back into the now. I inch around the lip of my hiding place and watch the others. If any of them saw _that_ , I’m sure I’ll know pretty damn quick.

No one says anything in the echoes of the blast. No one looks at me or shows any sign that anything out of the ordinary might have happened. Not even Dominic, the only other person in the group originally from the Cube, seems anything but focused on the next step of the escape.

You know, the jumping through a dark hole into an underground river of death part.

Gary doesn’t wait for the dust to settle, doesn’t even look before he leaps into the pitch dark of the hole below. Kevin follows, never willing to let anyone show him up, though I notice his hesitance. Alex and Zee, at each other’s side, go next with Jimmy and Monty at their heels. Gamzee just—

He just walks right off the edge.

_Christ._

Killing him might be easier said than done.

I’m left with Dominic and Donovan.

“I hate this part,” Donovan mutters, just loud enough to hear. “I hate getting wet, hate dealing with Owens, hate the damn _rats_.”

“As if it’s any worse than the rest of it.” Dominic stands near the edge, looking down. He holds tight to his hard hat, as if could keep him from falling. His voice drops lower, and I barely hear him say, “It’s better than the cathedral.”

Donovan doesn’t answer, shaking his head and dropping on his hands and knees to look down. He only acknowledges me with a brief grimace when I join him to add my own beam to the party. Our light glitters off the water moving too fast beneath us. If I listen hard enough, the shouts of our friends are audible down there. We need to follow them, sooner rather than later.

“Waiting won’t make it better,” I say eventually. “Let’s go.”

Donovan grumbles but rises to his feet as well. I close my eyes, not letting myself look at either of them before stepping into the open air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the end. I have all of the next installment written, too, but it'll probably take me a hot second to get it posted. The first three are pretty much just set up for the last two, but that's okay. I love this book series, so I'm not exactly upset to get all of this down in writing.


End file.
